


Sugar and Spice

by molly2012



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molly2012/pseuds/molly2012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Maura Isles runs a small pâtisserie in Paris. Boston detective Jane Rizzoli is in the city for a few days, on vacation in Europe with her recently-divorced mother. Sparks fly over the pastry counter, but then Jane has to leave. Can love blossom with 4000 miles and an ocean in between?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chocolate and Strawberries

Maura Isles was many things.

She was a daughter - adopted, so technically a daughter twice over.

She was a lover - although, unfortunately, that one was redundant for the moment, and had been for some time. But that didn't mean the potential wasn't there.

She was a friend - or, at least, she would be if she had more time for socialising, and didn't feel so horribly awkward in social situations. As it was, her main confidant and companion was Coco the tortoise. She was already older than Maura, but at least she didn't argue, get drunk, or try and persuade her to go clubbing.

But, first and foremost, Maura was a pâtissière. It was her passion, her dream, and had been ever since her childhood in Paris. That city was the home of many a sweet-toothed genius, and Maura had found that, when her family moved to America in her early teens, even the bakeries of New York weren't quite the same. Now, back in the City of Light, pâtisserie was her business.

Being a pâtissière meant that Maura considered herself something of a scientist. In essence, pastry-making was a series of chemical reactions between the ingredients that, when handled a certain way, produced the desired result. Everything had to be exact, otherwise that final result could be completely different from what was intended and would usually be a disaster. Measurements had to be precise, timings observed to the second and temperatures accurate, and any variation had to be perfectly calculated. Maura liked that. She liked to be able to predict things, and hated surprises. She also loved knowing why things happened the way that they did, and the chemistry behind the creation was something that she would spend hours researching and discovering. This penchant for orderliness and reasoning was not new, and had led some of her more unkind classmates at school in New England to call her 'Maura the bore-a'. Now, at the age of thirty seven, she could look back and think that she probably had been.

Those traits, though, also came in very useful when it came to the business side of things, since running her own pâtisserie in a quiet corner of Paris had, to start with, tested even her high level of patience, intelligence and ability to deal with red tape. It had been a nightmare, and several times she had wondered what on earth she thought she was trying to do. But after years of hard work, two bank loans, and hundreds of bottles of pinot noir drunk in stress, anger, and just plain misery, she was successful. More than successful. She had a steady stream of regular customers that would have been enough to keep her going even without the special orders that flooded in for birthdays, weddings, christenings, funerals, bar mitzvahs, summer parties, Christmas parties...Eventually she had had to expand, and now employed two part-time assistants to help run things. It was with some pride that she now felt able to call herself a proper businesswoman.

But Maura was also something of an artist - a trait which was most likely inherited from her mother. The hands that formed the spun sugar swans that rested on top of the latest wedding cake were creative, and exquisitely skilful. Chocolate leaves, marzipan fruits, and iced roses were all made individually, with great care and patience, and, at Christmas, a beautifully life-like, miniature crib would fill one half of the pâtisserie window. It was made entirely out of gingerbread and icing, right down to the hay in the manger and the sugar-candy wool on the lamb. At Easter, that same window space would be transformed with huge chocolate eggs, chicks, and bunnies made out of marzipan. One year, she had even gone so far as to produce an entire crucifixion and resurrection scene using thin sponge cake, icing, sweets and caramel to hold it all together. Not being religious herself, she had had no qualms about eating it after the holiday was over, although admitting that to one of the nuns from the Catholic school and convent at the top of the road had not been the best idea.

Daughter, scientist, businesswoman, artist...Maura was all of those things. But the one thing that she was not also happened to be the one thing that she was most often referred to as, and it drove her mad.

The one thing Maura Isles was not was a baker.

In the grand scheme of things, being called a heathen by an irate nun - just for eating a marzipan Jesus - did not bother Maura. Neither, now, did 'Maura the bore-a'. But being called a mere baker made her grit her teeth and take a deep breath. If people wanted a bakery, then they should go three doors down to Pascal's. Maura had never baked a baguette in her life, and she had no intention of starting now.

It was therefore not surprising that she bristled when, crouching down behind the counter to retrieve a file full of customer orders, she heard a throaty American twang drift in from the open door.

'Ma, seriously? Another bakery?'

Maura paused, her hands on the folder and her lips pursed into a frown. She had always believed that her fluency in both French and English was one of the reasons why her business had done so well. Not only was she able to communicate with the locals easily, she could also chat to tourists - the majority of whom spoke some form of English - and serve the growing community of English-speaking expats. But today was hot. It was getting towards lunchtime, when she would be closing for the afternoon before re-opening at around four. She was tired, having not slept at all well the night before. And she was in no mood to pander to Americans who called her pâtisserie a bakery. For the first time in a long time, she considered employing the old French trick of pretending to not understand a word.

'This isn't a bakery, Janie, a bakery is called a boulangerie. This is a pâtisserie, and look! Don't those look amazing?'

Now that sounded more promising.

Maura stood up, clutching the folder and tucking a stray strand of honey-blond hair back behind her ear. Making a mental note not to wear these particular peep-toe heels in the shop again - her feet were killing her - she took a deep breath and looked over to the door, a well-practised smile already in place.

'Bonjour. Can I help you with anything?'

'Not just yet, thanks'.

That throaty voice had come from a young, dark-haired woman, who was still standing by the door and gazing with grudging admiration at a macaron pyramid. But the older woman seemed far more enthusiastic.

'I don't know where to start...Janie, look at these! They must take hours to make...'

Maura smiled. She always liked it when customers appreciated the amount of work that did indeed go into making some of the delicacies on display.

'What are they?'

The dark-haired woman called Jane had finally turned her attention from the macaron pyramid, and had joined her mother by a chiller cabinet at the side of the shop. At least, Maura assumed it was her mother - but she didn't think about it for very long. The younger woman was now facing her, and Maura suddenly, inexplicably, felt like she couldn't breathe.

She told herself that it was the Boston Red Sox t-shirt that Jane was wearing. The last time Maura had seen one of those, her fiance had been wearing it. In Boston. Two weeks later, he had become her ex-fiance, and two weeks after that, she had been on her way back to Paris, nursing a broken heart and a sore hand from slapping him so hard.

So why was it Jane's liquid brown eyes that she was looking at, rather than the t-shirt?

'Petite pâtisserie'. She cleared her throat, trying to get some sort of grip. 'That one is a fraisier - white sponge cake layered with vanilla chantilly cream and strawberries, and finished with white chocolate. That one...' She indicated the one that Jane was now looking at. 'Choco-framboise'.

Jane blinked. 'Bless you'.

'Oh, Janie, don't be silly, it's another cake!'

Maura nodded, not sure enough of herself around this woman to know for certain whether she had been joking or not.

'Thin layers of chocolate sponge soaked in raspberry liqueur, then layered with fresh raspberries and chocolate mousse. They're both traditional in France, although the exact history is vague. No one knows for sure when they were first made, or why'.

'Oh my goodness!' The older woman gasped as she drank in the sight of the perfectly round, layered cakes in the chiller. 'Which one should I get?'

Jane was now looking at her mother as if she had gone mad.

'Which one?' she repeated. 'You've just had breakfast!'

'So?'

'And I thought you wanted lunch at that mussels place?'

'I do. But that's still an hour or so yet'.

Maura decided to come to the older woman's aid. Jane's dark eyes and tall, athletic figure were certainly arresting -  _wait, had she seriously just thought that?_  - but it didn't look like she was particularly bothered about buying anything.

'Here'. She walked over to the chiller and, reaching in between them, opened the door and carefully took out one of each. Taking them back to the counter, she reached underneath for a small paper plate off the top of the stack she always kept there, and a tiny fork. 'Try them. It might help you decide. No charge'.

'Oh. Thank you'.

Maura busied herself at the counter, flicking through her customer orders folder to try and find the one she wanted, but for some reason she couldn't concentrate. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the mother hold the fork out to her daughter, and saw Jane's eyes widen in surprise as she tasted the first bite. The moan of pleasure that reached Maura's ears made her heart beat a little bit faster, and she decided that she would be eternally grateful to Pascal from the bakery, who chose that particular moment to come in and ask her for three chestnut millefeuilles and a strawberry tart.

'All for you?' She loved teasing elderly Pascal, who had run the bakery for fifty years, taking over from his father before him and his father before that. But Pascal was unmarried and had no children to take after him, and so, at the age of sixty eight, he still rose at three every morning to bake bread and croissants before opening his shop at six. And he always came by before lunch to get himself something sweet 'to keep me going for the evening shift' - and that always involved gently flirting with Maura.

Was it her imagination, or were Jane's eyes on her as Pascal grinned and patted her on the arm?

'Of course not. My sister's coming. And I remembered from last time that she's partial to those chestnut pastries'.

It wasn't until Pascal had paid and left that Maura turned back to the two American women, and realised that she had been right. Those eyes were on her, and it was making her blush.

'I think we might have to have one of each'.

'Ma!'

'Oh, come on, Janie, when was the last time I had a vacation with my only daughter? You gotta admit, they didn't have cake like this in Italy. Great pasta, but not so good cake. And since your father isn't around anymore to tell me I'm getting fat, I intend to enjoy myself'.

'Aw, Ma...' Jane protested, finally tearing her eyes away from Maura. 'You're not getting fat, but...'

'What do you mean, but?'

'You're getting divorced, not going into a nunnery!'

'What's a nunnery got to do with eating cake?'

Jane looked exasperated, and turned back to Maura.

'Ok, so one of each. Erm, how much...?'

Maura knew the prices of everything off by heart. She could have recited them in her sleep, back to front and upside down. But she still fumbled with her words and hesitated before she answered.

'Uh...twelve euros'.

'Fu-...!'

But Jane's wide-eyed curse was cut short by her mother's shocked interruption.

'Jane Clementine Rizzoli!'

'Sorry'. Jane rolled her eyes and muttered as she pulled out a wallet from the back pocket of her jeans. 'But that's like...fifteen dollars! On two cakes!'

'Just excuse her'. An apologetic, but wide smile turned Maura's way. 'She's a cop'.

Maura smiled back, not knowing whether Jane being a cop was supposed to explain everything or nothing. She took the money, and packaged up two fresh cakes in a little cream box with 'La Belle Epoque' printed on the top in flowing black script. And then she watched as Jane and her mother walked slowly out into the midday sunshine. Automatically, she reached for the paper plate that they had left behind on the counter, and was about to throw it in the bin when she saw that there was still a bite of the chocolate one left.

Maura would never have admitted to anyone that she had favourites among her creations. As far as she was concerned, it was like asking a mother to choose her favourite child. But, if she was absolutely forced to, she would probably have chosen the choco-framboise, and there was no way she was letting that bite go to waste. Without thinking about it, she scooped up the cake on the fork and popped it in her mouth, before folding the plate in half and placing it carefully in the bin. It was only then that she realised she had used the same fork that she had given Jane and, unbidden, the thought crossed her mind that that was maybe why she had caught a faint taste of strawberries as well as the chocolate. Jane must have tried the fraisier as well...or maybe she would taste like that anyway...

Maura gave herself a mental slap, shocked at herself. Glancing guiltily around to make sure that no one else had seen the horrified look that she was sure was written all over her face, she saw that it was already ten minutes past her closing time and she hastened to shut and lock the door. She was obviously more tired than she had thought - she needed a short sleep and something to eat before she opened up again for the evening trade later. Then she would maybe feel better.

Living in the apartment above the pâtisserie had its advantages. Usually, Maura was the first one to point out that size was not one of them, but today she was grateful that it was only a few steps from the door at the top of the stairs to her bedroom area. Pulling the curtains closed, she stripped quickly and set the alarm clock for two hours, to give her plenty of time to get something to eat and check on Coco before heading back downstairs. Because of the tiny amount of space in the apartment, she had made the effort to decorate in light, airy colours to make the space seem bigger, and the bedclothes that she tumbled into were a pale, dusky pink that gave a splash of colour against the cream walls. Sighing, relaxing, she kicked the quilt down to her legs and closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the city float through the open window.

It wasn't until she woke up, two hours later, that she realised she had been dreaming about chocolate cake, strawberries, and a woman named Jane Rizzoli.


	2. An American in Paris Part I

La Belle Epoque was not a place that was easy to find.

It was halfway down the kind of narrow, quiet street that everyone called the 'real' Paris - specialised, family-run shops with apartments above, and small, smoky cafes with tables and chairs spilling out onto the pavement in such a haphazard fashion that, when you took a seat, it was hard to know which establishment you were actually patronising. It was the kind of democratic enclave where young and old, Parisian and non-Parisian, successful and not-so-successful mixed together quite happily without too much bother. And it was the kind of street that formed the centre of a miniature community and where, if you looked hard enough, you could get anything and everything that you might possibly need.

This particular street, rue Saint Benedict, was not far from the centre of the city. If you stood in the right place and craned your neck in the right direction, you would be able to see the top of the Eiffel Tower from it, and it would take just half an hour of slow walking to reach it from the Left Bank of the Seine. But that thirty minute walk would take you on a journey through a maze of similar, narrow streets, through the Latin Quarter and the Jardin de Luxembourg, into the department known as Montparnasse. It was not the kind of place that you went to deliberately unless you were a local. Tourists often stumbled upon it on those days when they had museum fatigue and decided to wander and explore instead, but, even if they wanted to, they very rarely managed to find it again.

Jane Rizzoli was finding that out the hard way.

Almost an hour after she had left Angela, her mother, at the hotel to have a nap - ' _Getting old and divorced does that to you, you know, it makes you sleepy'_  - she still hadn't found the pâtisserie. She knew that she was in the right area, but she also knew that she could wander around for hours and not get any closer. And her French wasn't just appalling. It was non-existently appalling, and rendered it pointless to even try and ask for directions. She cursed herself for not taking more notice earlier of where they were walking...but then again, she had not known that she would want to retrace her steps.

Jane wasn't sure, exactly, why she wanted to go back to the pâtisserie. The cakes that they had bought - what were they called again? Fraisier, that was one. Like the TV program. And chocofambass...or something like that. They had been incredible. Really incredible. But, at six euros a pop, Jane didn't think that she was going back for more of those. Her wallet wouldn't stand it, and neither would her waistline. No, there was something else drawing her back.

Something...or someone.

It was luck rather than any kind of judgment that eventually brought her to the top of rue Saint Benedict - named, Jane assumed, for the convent and Catholic school of the Benedictine sisters that they had walked past earlier. She grimaced as, once more, she passed the heavy wooden doors. Twenty five years had passed since she had left the Catholic elementary school in Boston, and she was still terrified of anything in a wimple. Memories of sharp rulers, forced confessions and seemingly endless catechism tests had left their mark. But at least she knew she was on the right street.

When she walked quietly in through the open door of La Belle Epoque, she was surprised, and not in a good way, to see someone else behind the counter, and she felt a sinking feeling somewhere in her tummy. She had just assumed that the woman who had served them earlier was the owner - she had given that impression - and Jane had also assumed that she would therefore be there this afternoon when the shop reopened. Instead, a short, dark-haired woman was rearranging trays of pastries in the display cabinet beside the till. Like everything else in the shop, they looked so tantalisingly delicious...but it wasn't pastries that Jane had come for. She told herself she was stupid for feeling slightly empty, and very disappointed. She didn't even know the woman's name.

But, she admitted to herself, she would have liked to find out. There had been something about her that Jane instinctively found appealing, something that, on a certain level, attracted her. And that happened rarely enough that she was intrigued.

'Bonjour. Puis-je vous aider?'

Jane jumped at the voice, and looked up from the rows of fresh fruit tarts to see that the dark woman was smiling at her expectantly.

'Uh...'

The assistant smiled, and came to her rescue.

'English?'

'Yes'. Jane knew her relief sounded a bit desperate, but she couldn't help it. She was sick and tired of trying to say 'Parlez-vous anglais?' in such a way that she could make herself understood. 'I'm just looking, thank you'.

She didn't feel like she could say that, actually, what she had come in here to look at was a beautiful woman with honey-blonde hair and hazel eyes - not the pastries at all.

'No problem, just call if you need anything'.

Jane smiled, and returned her attention to the display cabinet. Now that she was here, she thought she might as well have a proper look and maybe get her mother something else, something that didn't need to be kept cold. Maybe a couple of those colourful things that looked like mini-meringues. She was just bending down to surreptitiously check the price label when she heard the assistant call through an open door behind the counter.

'Maura? Avons-nous tout les parfaits?'

Jane looked up. Maura?

'Non, plus maintenant...'

And suddenly there she was, hair drawn back in a ponytail, and wearing baggy chef's whites that reminded Jane of the scrubs that the pathologists wore to do autopsies in at the Boston police department. But, instead of a scalpel, she was wielding a fearsome-looking knife that was covered in chocolate cream, and her disposable catering gloves were white rather than the bright blue that were the standard at crime scenes. And Jane couldn't help noticing that Maura looked a great deal prettier than Dr Pike.

She waited until the assistant's query had been dealt with before straightening up fully and nodding towards the knife.

'Careful what you do with that. I'm on vacation, I don't want to have to arrest you'.

'Oh!' Maura's face registered her surprise before a slow, slightly shy smile of pleasure crossed her face. 'It's, uh...I was in the middle of slicing a Opéra gateau. It needs a very sharp knife to make it neat, and the gloves stop me getting fingerprints all over the icing'.

'Hmm'. A wry smile cross Jane's face. 'The perfect murder. Death by chocolate'.

Maura looked uncertain for a moment, and Jane shook her head at herself. Terrible joke, plus possible language confusion - even though Maura seemed to be fluent in English as well as French - equalled awkward silence.  _Great start, Rizzoli_.

Although she had no clear idea of what it was that she was trying to start in the first place.

'Just ignore me. I'm a homicide cop, we have a strange sense of humour'.

'Oh'. Maura's expression cleared to leave that smile again, and Jane couldn't help but return it. It was infectious, somehow. Bright, innocent...and damn sexy.

Wait. Had she really just thought that?

She didn't have time to answer her own question before Maura was speaking again.

'The cakes must have been good if you've come back already'.

'They were. I was actually wondering if you had anything that might keep out of the chiller? For my ma, that is. She's been raving about that strawberry thing all day'.

Even to her ears, that had sounded flustered, rushed. It had sounded obvious that she had wanted to say something else. Something like, ' _yes, the cakes were fantastic, but I actually came back to see you'._

But Maura didn't seem to notice.

'Of course'. She nodded. 'Macarons don't need the chiller, although I would still eat them tomorrow when they'll be fresh'.

'Ok, what are they?'

Maura pointed to the pyramid that Jane had been admiring earlier.

'Those. Almond meringue filled with buttercream or ganache, depending on which flavour you choose. Apparently they were first made in 1791 in a convent near Cormery, although personally, I prefer the story that Italian chefs brought them here with Catherine di Medici in the fifteen hundreds. But anyway, they've become a French classic'.

Jane blinked. She wondered if all of Maura's customers got the condensed history of whatever particular cake or pastry they were buying. And classic or not, she wasn't buying her mother a whole tower of the things.

'We do sell them individually as well'. Maura must have seen her expression. 'At the moment, I have raspberry, strawberries and cream, coffee, tangerine, violet or chocolate'.

'Wow. Ok'.

'Personally, I would recommend the coffee. Or the raspberry'.

'That's good enough for me'. Jane smiled, and shrugged. 'I'm not much of an expert on this kind of thing. I know what tastes good, and that's about it'.

'Well, that's the first - and most important - step. You'd be surprised how many people get that bit wrong'.

Jane laughed. 'Is it possible to go wrong with sugar?'

Maura grimaced. 'Snail ice cream. Bacon flavoured chocolates. That's the kind of thing I mean. Anyway, don't get me started. Two of each?'

'Sure'.

'Just let me, uh...' Maura held up the knife, and Jane suddenly realised that the assistant was nowhere to be seen.

'Sorry, I forgot you were in the middle of something'.

'It's okay, I'll be just a second'.

And she was, re-emerging from what Jane now thought must be the kitchen in less than a minute, minus gloves and knife. It was long enough, however, for Jane to start feeling a bit uncomfortable and panicky. She had walked all the way back here. And she couldn't hang around for much longer, pretending to look at sugary confections that she had no intention of buying. But she had no idea what she wanted to say - at least, not without making it sound like a holiday pick-up line. And, she reminded herself, she had never done this before. Even though she had been attracted to women, she had never acted on it - uncertainty and worry over how it would be perceived both at home and at work had prevented her from doing so. Jane Rizzoli, tough-girl homicide cop, had made it a rule to always pretend she was straight as an arrow.

But every rule had one exception.

'That's better. Right, two of each...' Jane felt Maura's eyes on her. 'And a violet one in for free, because I just made them yesterday for the first time and I want to know what you think'.

'Told you, I don't have much of a tongue for these things...'

_Oh sweet Jesus_. She really had just said that.

She felt the blush creeping up her neck, spreading over her cheekbones and even over her nose.  _Think, Rizzoli. Think, then speak_.

The trouble was, her brain seemed to be functioning so slowly that if she tried to think first she would never speak at all. And, she decided, the blame for that lay squarely with Maura.

Fortunately, once again, Maura seemed not to have noticed.

'Exactly', she was saying. 'Untrained tastebuds are perfect for testing new recipes. Most of my customers are the same'.

Jane tried to swallow her lingering embarrassment.

'So you want me to try it now?'

'Not necessarily'. Maura looked up from packaging the macarons, and smiled. It was a warm smile, full of meaning, and it sent a tingle all the way down Jane's spine and into her stomach. She tried to ignore it and focus on what Maura was saying, but it was difficult.

'I have a mailing list on the website, so you could add your email and let me know when you get home'.

Email. Okay...

'Or here'. Maura turned away for a brief moment, back towards the cash register, before walking around the counter and handing Jane a small card. It had the patisserie name and address in the same flowing black script that decorated the cake boxes, and also a phone number. 'If you have time while you're in Paris, call me'.

Call me.

Was that call me as in, call me? Or was it call me as in...well,  _call me_?

Was there any difference anyway?

It wasn't until she was out of the shop and halfway back to the hotel that Jane turned the card over, and realised that Maura Isles, pâtissière and owner of La Belle Epoque, had written her cell number on the back.

_Call me_.


	3. Coffee and Cream

It was barely ten thirty in the morning when Maura heard the shrill ring of her cell phone.

First she swore under her breath. She was in the middle of piping choux buns for the latest batch of religieuses, and, if she didn't get them in the oven soon, the pastry would be unusable and the customers would be complaining. Religieuses on a Friday were a Belle Epoque tradition.

Then, she considered ignoring it. It couldn't be shop business, since she had long ago decided to separate work and pleasure and keep two phones. It was her personal one that was demanding her attention and therefore, as far as Maura was concerned, that meant the call was not particularly important. Hardly anyone had her private cell number anyway. Just her mother, in which case not answering would be the best policy, and...

Jane.

Maura dropped the piping bag and nozzle on the steel table, narrowly missing the perfect circle of doughy pastry that she had just created, and almost ran across the kitchen, stripping off her gloves as she went. She had left the phone on a shelf near the oven - it had become a habit to use it as a timer when she was cooking - and she grabbed it with shaking hands. The number on the caller display was not one that she recognised.

'Bonjour?'

'Hi'.

Maura almost laughed. She would recognise that voice anywhere now. 'Hi'.

'That's better'.

There was a pause, before they both began speaking together.

'So how was the...'

'That violet thing was...'

Maura stopped at the same time as Jane, and she could hear the American's throaty chuckle. It was a sound that she quickly decided she wanted to hear more of.

'Sounds like you should go first'.

Maura smiled, even though there was no one else there to see it, and started her sentence again. 'So, how was the violet macaron?'

'Rizzoli family verdict on the violet mac-...thing...incredible. You need to make some more'.

'Really?'

'Hell, yeah!'

Maura laughed as she felt the butterflies take off in her stomach, and she told herself sternly to get a grip. It was a phone conversation, for heaven's sake. And it was only happening because she had asked Jane to try a macaron flavour that wasn't really that new at all.

She had made them last week. And Pascal had liked them, too.

'Okay, next time I make them, I'll do a batch of violet ones'. She allowed a flirtatious note to enter her voice. 'Just for you, of course'.

'How many's in a batch?'

'Forty two. Think you can manage?'

'Probably not, my eyes are usually bigger than my belly. You might have to help me out'.

Maura had to take a deep breath to try and stop herself giggling. The growing sense of excitement, of anticipation and exhilaration, that signalled the start of a kind of teasing dance with and around another person - she had almost forgotten what that felt like.

It felt good.

'Are you inviting yourself over for macarons, Jane?'

'Or whatever you're making'.

'Religieuses'.

'Whats-es?'

'Religieuses. Choux pastry buns covered in...'

But Maura didn't finish explaining exactly what religieuses were before Jane interrupted.

'Never mind. But seriously, I was wondering...uh...whether, well, whether you would like...whether you would mind...'

'Whether I would like to see you again?'

The words were out before Maura could stop them, and she screwed her eyes shut, listening to the heavy pause that seemed to be ringing in her ear. What if she had got it completely wrong? What if she had just made a huge idiot of herself? What if...

'Yeah. That's what I was wondering'.

_Thank God_.

'I'd love to'.

Jane's relief was palpable, even over the phone.

'Great. So, uh...how about today? Ma's wanting to go back to one of the art galleries, but I don't think I can take any more of those'.

'Well...' Maura considered the trays of pastries that were still waiting for the oven, and began to think out loud. 'I have cooking to do this morning, another batch of those mainly, it shouldn't take too long. Amelie leaves at two, but Helene's in again when we reopen at five...yes, I should be able to leave this afternoon'.

'Okay'.

'Would you like to come here? About two? I could do us something to eat, and we could go for a drink or something...'

'Yeah, that sounds good'.

Maura had to resist the urge to jump up and down.

'Great. So I'll see you later'.

'Oh, Maura?'

Maura's eyes involuntarily widened. That was the first time she had heard her name on Jane's lips, and it made her feel slightly giddy.

'I need directions, I got lost yesterday'.

It was only after Maura had given her the directions and Jane had hung up, that she realised she had never asked for Jane's cell number. Jane had been calling from her hotel room, and Maura felt suddenly panicky. What if something came up in between now and closing time? What if Helene called in sick, or a rush order came in, and she couldn't contact Jane? It would terrible, a disaster. She didn't know exactly how long Jane had left in Paris - she might not have another chance.

Breathing deeply, and closing her eyes for a quick thirty-second meditation, Maura told herself not to be so silly. If something came up, well, there was nothing she could do about it. She could always sit Jane upstairs with Coco until the evening closing time - if you caught the tortoise on a good day, she wasn't bad company. At least, that's what Maura had always found.

With that in mind, Maura devoted the rest of the morning - and the rest of her nervous energy - to cooking. The first batch of choux buns came out of the oven just as the second batch were ready to go in, and then, while she was waiting the few minutes for them to cool, she popped out into the shop to speak to Josie and Laurent, the couple whose wedding cake she was scheduled to be making in a couple of weeks' time. Then it was back to the kitchen, and the icing and assembling of the religieuses - a sharp piping nozzle, almost like a sterile needle, filled the puffed-up buns with mocha crème patissière, before they were iced with a coffee glaze and the smaller buns were placed on top of the larger ones at a slightly jaunty angle. For the final flourish, a ring of buttercream was piped around the bottom of the smaller buns to resemble a ruff around a neck.

Maura worked quickly. But filling and icing a hundred choux pastry buns to make fifty religieuses took even her a couple of hours, and, concentrating on the task in hand, she completely lost track of time. She was just piping the last ruff on the last bun when she heard a familiar voice coming through the open door that led into the shop.

'Have you got any violet macaroons?'

Maura couldn't help the grin that spread over her face as she put down the piping bag and walked over to the door, nodding at Amelie to let her know that she had got this one and that it was okay to close up for lunchtime.

'Macarons. Not macaroons. And not yet. Although I do have some nuns ready if you would like to try one?'

The look on Jane's face was priceless.

'Nuns?'

Maura giggled, and gestured for her to come around the counter and back into the kitchen.

'These'. She pointed with a gloved finger to the trays that rested on the steel work table. '"Religieuses" is the French word for nuns. See, the smaller choux bun on top is meant to look like a wimple, and the buttercream ring is meant to look like a ruff'.

She picked up one and considered it carefully.

'Although mine look like they're a bit tipsy. I should maybe have put the wimples on at less of an angle'.

Jane looked seriously at the pastry that Maura was holding up, and nodded.

'See what you mean. Tipsy and...uh...slightly obese'.

Maura spluttered with laughter. Jane was right. She had made the larger buns on the bottom...well. Rather too large.

'I hope Sister Marie doesn't hear us talking like this', she warned, looking behind them into the shop even though she knew that Amelie had now closed and that no customers were in. 'She gave me hell for weeks for eating Jesus'.

'You what?'

Realising what that had sounded like, Maura hastened to explain, even though she could see Jane laughing.

'Oh, it was an Easter scene. Marzipan, sweets, icing...I had it in the window and obviously I couldn't sell it, but it was too good to just throw the whole lot away afterwards, so I ate parts of it'.

'Including Jesus?'

'Yes', Maura admitted, slightly shamefaced. 'Then Sister Marie from the school down the street came in after the long Easter weekend and asked where the scene had gone'.

'And you told her?' Jane was incredulous as she began laughing properly. 'Bad idea, Maura'.

'Well, I know that now. That's why I was saying we maybe shouldn't make jokes about the religieuses. They take them very seriously'. She paused, her eyes taking in the sight of a smiling Jane leaning against the doorway, dark curls loose around her shoulders and a red blouse hugging her slender figure, and tried to ignore the fact that it was making her heart speed up. 'So, would you like to try one?'

'Wow'. Jane pushed herself off the wall and moved towards the table, looking very carefully at the pastries. 'I went to Catholic school. I'm not sure I could eat a nun'.

'Hmm'. Maura nodded sagely as she picked up a particularly fat one and handed it to Jane. 'Sure about that?'

'No'. And Maura watched as Jane bit into the bottom, licking off the buttercream and scooping up the crème patissière with her tongue. It didn't do anything for her heart rate - in fact, she noticed that her mouth was getting dry as well, and her breathing wasn't as regular as it should have been.

Maybe a pastry would help.

'Ooh'. Maura caught a bit of buttercream with her finger before it dropped onto her white chef's shirt. 'Not bad'.

'Na-barh?' Jane spoke through a mouth full of pastry and cream, before swallowing and trying again. 'Not bad? What are you talking about? These are amazing!'

'Hmm'. Maura delicately licked the coffee glaze on the top. 'I think I prefer the chocolate nappage. But this coffee one isn't bad either'.

'Nap- ...what's that?'

'Nappage - the glaze on top. It's usually either plain or chocolate, but I thought I'd try a coffee version'.

'And what's the stuff in the middle?'

'Crème patissière'. Maura took another bite, gauging the flavour of the filling, before seeing Jane's blank look. 'Pastry cream. It's a little bit like a custard, but not a custard. Pâtissiers use it all the time, it's a bit like cement for a builder. It's often used plain, but I made this one mocha'.

'Oh'. Jane blinked as she considered the blob of the cream that rested on her finger, before shrugging and licking it off. 'Well, it tastes good, even if it is cement. And I like the coffee glaze thing, too'.

'Enough to assuage your Catholic guilt?' Maura didn't usually tease other people - she never usually felt confident enough. But, with Jane, somehow it felt natural.

'Oh yeah. More than enough'.

There was silence for a few seconds, and Maura wondered whether Jane was looking at her surreptitiously in the same way that Maura was looking at her, while they both pretended to look at the trays of pastries. She thought that she probably was, and the thought made her feel slightly hysterical. Suddenly, she realised that she had no idea what to do next.

'Uh...would you like...?'

But she didn't get to finish asking Jane what she would like. A long finger had reached out and was gently wiping away a tiny splodge of buttercream from the corner of Maura's mouth, and everything - time, motion, Maura's brain - seemed to stop.

She must have looked as shocked as she felt, because Jane quickly withdrew her finger.

'Buttercream. Or custard'.

'Oh'. Maura was too stunned even to correct Jane on the custard. Instead, all her mental energy was going into co-ordinating her mind and her mouth so that she didn't say something she might regret. 'Thank you'.

Another silence was only broken when Maura cleared her throat, remembering what she had been trying to ask before Jane had touched her.

'Would you like to come upstairs?'

A slight raise of Jane's eyebrow was enough to make a deep red flush start spreading up Maura's neck. _Damn it_.

That hadn't sounded right at all.

_Think. Then speak_.

'I live upstairs. In the apartment upstairs. It's tiny, but it's handy, and it saves on the rent. I could make us a salade nicoise, if you like...' She stopped abruptly, aware that she was talking too much, talking too quickly, but the smile on Jane's face helped her relax slightly, and she tentatively smiled back.

'Sure'. Jane nodded. 'That would be great'.


	4. An American in Paris Part II

Jane had always thought that her own apartment back in Boston was tiny. Granted, it probably looked smaller than it actually was because of all the clutter and the stuff that never seemed to get tidied away, but it was still just three rooms. An open-plan kitchen and living area, a bedroom, and a pretty poor excuse for a bathroom...but it was hers, and, despite the fact that it was a shoebox, it was home.

Maura's apartment, above the shop, made Jane's look palatial.

It was really just one room. The kitchen and living area took up most of the space, and an ornate wooden screen had been opened out along the length of the wall to shield a bedroom. Jane assumed that the closed door next to the screen led into the bathroom, which looked as if it had been built as part of a small extension over the shop next door. But, somehow, it didn't feel claustrophobic, or squashed. There were three windows that opened to reveal colourful window boxes, full of geraniums and lobelia and trailing ivy, that sent a sweet, fresh smell through the apartment every time a breeze wafted that way. Maura had carefully chosen colours and fabrics to lighten the room, and a large mirror, artfully placed on the longest wall, reflected the light from the windows back through to create an illusion of space.

Despite its size it was, Jane thought, one of the nicest apartments she had ever seen.

But then, as Maura was putting some coffee on and stripping off her chef's shirt to reveal a simple blue top underneath, Jane caught sight of something in the corner of the room that definitely didn't look nice. Something small, and round, and a muddy brown colour that didn't fit with the pale-mauve-and-cream colour scheme of the living area. Something that looked a little bit like a shell on legs.

Then something peered round from underneath the shell, and blinked slowly at her.

Jane almost jumped backwards.

'What the hell?'

Maura laughed as she walked around the kitchen counter to stand beside Jane.

'It's ok, it's just Coco. Here'. She walked back to the refrigerator and took out a punnet of strawberries before handing one to Jane.

'I thought you said you were making a salad?'

'I am. These are for Coco. Go on, give her one. She loves them, and it's a good way of introducing yourself'.

Jane gulped.

'What exactly is Coco?'

'An Indian Starred Tortoise. See the star patterns on her shell?'

'Umm-hmm...I thought tortoises were big'.

'Some are, but...' Maura gestured ruefully around the apartment, and her meaning was clear.  _It wouldn't fit. '_ There's a lot that are quite small. You get dwarf tortoises, for example, that only grow to about six inches long. But Coco's about ten inches - just right for her species'.

She crouched down in front of the creature who was indeed, as far as Jane could see, eating a strawberry with great enjoyment - although she could only tell by the speed at which the fruit disappeared. Coco's facial expression gave nothing away.

'Aren't they illegal?'

Maura laughed as she stood up. 'No, of course not...but I do have to have a licence. Would you like to see it, Officer?'

Jane pulled herself up straight, and pretended to look official.

'It's Detective, actually, and no, ma'am, that won't be necessary. As long as you don't make me feed it'.

Maura smirked as she walked back to the coffee, leaving Jane with the strawberries.

'Wimp'.

Grimacing, Jane reluctantly crouched down in front of the tortoise. On closer inspection, the mud-brown shell was actually patterned beautifully with dark yellow, but the black marbles of eyes that were now fixed on Jane were making her slightly nervous. She felt like she was being sized up, and, coming from a creature that was about six inches high, it was fairly unnerving. Slowly, gingerly, she held out a strawberry and, equally gingerly, Coco took it.

'There'. Maura had come back over to their corner, and was holding out a cup of coffee to Jane. 'Friends?'

Jane raised one eyebrow at the tortoise. But Coco, sensing that she had had all the strawberries that she was going to get, had silently disappeared back into her shell.

'I...uh...guess so'. Jane stood up and accepted the coffee. 'So you named your tortoise after chocolate?'

Maura laughed, and Jane thought that she could never hear enough of that sound.

'Not quite', Maura admitted. 'It's actually Coco as in Chanel. You know, the designer?'

'Yeah, even I've heard of that one'. Jane looked down at the tortoise. 'Perfume, right?'

'Yes, there's Chanel No. 5, as well as lots of other fragrances'. Maura nodded enthusiastically. 'And the fashion, of course. They have the most gorgeous clutch bag this season, it's...' A dreamy expression was creeping over Maura's face, but the incredulity on Jane's must have shown more than she had intended and Maura paused. 'What?'

'You actually buy Chanel?'

'Well, I have done. In the past. Occasionally. Just for something special, you know...'

Jane realised that the blunt question had made Maura a bit defensive, and she held up her hands in apology.

'Hey, you don't have to justify anything to me'. She smiled, hoping to try and put Maura at ease again. The last thing she wanted was to make things uncomfortable. 'The closest I've ever got to designer clothes was a signed Red Sox shirt my brother got me for my twenty first birthday'.

To her enormous relief, Maura laughed, and Jane looked down at the tortoise before continuing. 'But, if you don't mind me saying, Coco doesn't look particularly...well...she doesn't look the type'.

'Oh, you'd be surprised'. Maura pointed at a small pile of magazines that were tucked under the dinkiest coffee table that Jane had ever seen. 'She likes those'.

Jane peered closer. Marie Claire. Vogue. Elle. All in French and all, apparently, for Coco's benefit.

She had stumbled into a madhouse. But it only made her want to stay and find out more. Despite the prospect of having to eat a salad - which she reluctantly admitted would do her good after all the pastries - Jane was glad that Maura had invited her here.

She had never talked so easily, so freely, with anyone. As she helped to put the salad together, all the while keeping a wary eye on the now-inanimate tortoise, she realised that she was telling Maura pretty much all about herself. About her childhood in Boston which, while not exactly deprived, had not been the easiest either. About her crazy family - her father Frank, who ran a plumbing business and had recently decided to leave her mother Angela, and her brothers Tommy and Frankie junior. And she found herself talking about how life had changed since her parents' divorce, and how her mother, perhaps seeking some kind of solidarity and comfort from the only other woman in the family, had spent a good deal of time on Jane's sofa watching trashy movies and eating popcorn, before persuading Jane to take some of the leave that was owed to her in order to embark on a two-week mother-daughter trip to Europe. Paid for, of course, by her ex-husband - on what had once been the joint credit card.

Maura burst out laughing as Jane mimicked her mother's voice.

' _Well, honestly, it's the least he can do. Married for all this time and the last proper vacation I had was our honeymoon!_ ' She paused to take a breath. 'Then Frankie and Tommy were going on and on about not being invited, even though they didn't want to come anyway, and now I'm kind of seeing why - they haven't had to spend two solid weeks with her'.

'Sorry'. Maura covered her mouth to try and hide her amusement. 'I shouldn't laugh, divorce must be horrible. But your mother certainly seems like a character'.

Jane nodded as she carried the bowl of salad over to the little round table.

'That's one way of putting it'.

Then, as they ate, she asked some questions of her own, and as Maura talked, Jane wondered whether she was feeling the same unexpected ease at speaking about herself as Jane had. She learnt that Maura was adopted, and that her father, a wealthy businessman, had died some years before, while her mother was an artist and spent a lot of time travelling and exhibiting her work. She learnt that Maura had always had a sweet tooth, and that her first ever experience of cooking had been making chocolate muffins with her nanny when she was aged just three - although when Jane asked if she had got any of her skills from her mother, Maura had just shrugged and admitted that her mother hadn't been around very much. Jane didn't push it.

She hoped that there would be other times in the future when she might be able to ask with more confidence.

But she couldn't believe it when Maura told her that she had been born in Paris, but that her family had moved to Boston - of all places - in her early teens, and that she had attended college there before moving back to France. And they were roughly the same age. They must have been at school and doing the rounds of summer camps and school trips at almost the same time...

'It was a private boarding school. My parents chose it so that they wouldn't have to worry about leaving me when they went travelling'.

Oh. Maybe not, then. Jane didn't think that private boarders probably did the same kind of school activities that she and her brothers had.

'And...what else?' Maura mused as she helped herself to more salad. 'BCU - I did chemistry. I had a job lined up for when I graduated, but I got engaged-'

Jane almost choked on an anchovy.

'...broke it off six months later, and came back here. My mother never did understand why, and she certainly didn't understand when I said I wanted to open a pâtisserie instead. Especially when I refused to use family money to do it...but I wanted something that was mine. And I'm still here'.

But Jane's brain was still stuck on the word 'engaged'. She had heard what Maura had just said, and it would be processed and thought about - a lot - later. For now, though, Jane took a mouthful of water, hoping that the sudden sick feeling of confusion and hurt didn't show too much. Had she really misread the signs that badly?

'You got engaged?'

Maura nodded ruefully. 'It was a mistake. Really, I think I knew all along that it wouldn't work out, but I was a bit naive as well. And the Fairfields were exactly the sort of family my parents wanted me to marry into. There was a lot of social pressure'.

The Fairfields?

Holy shit.

'Uh...which one?'

'Which what?'

'Which Fairfield?'

'Oh...Garrett'. Maura looked at Jane quizzically. 'Why, do you know them?'

Jane snorted. 'Not personally, no. But...well. Everyone in Boston knows of them. Seriously? You were going to marry Garrett Fairfield?'

Maura nodded as she looked at Jane carefully.

'But I didn't'.

'Evidently not', Jane murmured. But, before she could say anything else, the world came crashing to a halt as Maura reached over and placed a hand over Jane's.

'You don't need to worry'.

For a moment, Jane couldn't think. She couldn't speak, and she was actually having trouble breathing as well. Had Maura just said what she thought she had?

'Told you', she finally managed, weakly. 'You don't need to justify anything to me'.

Maura smiled, her hand still covering Jane's.

'I'm not. I'm just saying...you looked worried. And you don't need to be. You didn't get it wrong'.

Jane couldn't think of a reply. Nothing, at least, that wouldn't have made her sound like a totally incompetent idiot. But Maura just smiled again - honestly, did she have any idea what that smile was doing? - and withdrew her hand, her lingering fingers leaving a tingling trail on Jane's skin.

'Would you like any more?'

_Yes, please._

'What?'

'More salad?'

'Oh, no thanks'. Jane shook her head, still slightly dazed. 'That was great, though'.

And that, she thought later, was probably the first time in her life that she had said it - and meant it - about a salad.

'So'. Maura leaned back in her chair. 'I should probably go and check everything's okay downstairs with closing up for the evening, but...'

'Sure'. Jane nodded as she checked her watch. Wow. Was that the time already? She hadn't realised that she had been here so long, and, suddenly worried that she had outstayed her welcome, went to push back her chair. She didn't really want to leave, but there was still tomorrow.

But Maura reached out a hand again to stop her from standing up.

'I was going to say that if you don't mind, I'll just pop downstairs - and I might get something for dessert while I'm down there - but then I was going to ask whether you'd like to go for a drink somewhere? If your mother won't mind being left on her own for a bit longer, that is'.

A slow smile spread across Jane's face. More time with Maura? More pastries? She didn't even have to think about it.

'She won't mind'.

She didn't add that, after almost two weeks of practically living out of the same suitcase, a break from each other would probably save at least one life.

Jane knew that Angela would ask questions. She wouldn't really mind that Jane was doing her own thing, but she was naturally nosy and would want all the details. But Jane decided that she would deal with that later.

The radiant smile that lit up Maura's face was worth all the awkward questions her mother could throw at her.


	5. Guns and Roses

'Wow'.

Maura smiled as she looked across the table and saw Jane gazing around at the small, dimly-lit bar, her eyebrows raised and her eyes wide.

She decided that she loved surprising Jane.

'Why are there so many books in here?'

'Bar Librairie'. Maura indicated the serving area, where a particularly large, leather-bound volume took pride of place alongside endless bottles of spirits and liqueurs. 'It used to be a bookshop'.

'Really?'

Maura nodded. 'Although it's always been a bar since I've been here. I think the bookshop went about twenty years ago. They're known for their cocktails now - they have two specialty lists, one for classic French cocktails and in-house recipes, and another one of cocktails in literature'.

Jane narrowed her eyes.

'They do beer as well, right?'

Maura laughed, and nodded again. 'Yes, of course. But at least have a look at the cocktails. They don't all come pink with a cherry on top'.

Really, though, Maura didn't care what Jane got. She could order whatever she wanted. Beer, mineral water, or the brightest-coloured cocktail with cherries and umbrellas - it didn't matter.

Maura just wanted to be with her.

But, as Jane obediently took the cocktail menu that was propped up on the table, Maura could tell that her attention was not entirely focused on the drinks. Granted, Jane probably couldn't understand a word of what was written on the card anyway, but Maura suspected - slightly smugly - that the other woman's inability to concentrate was more likely to do with the figure-hugging green dress that Maura had changed into earlier from her work clothes. Jane had jokingly complained at first, saying that if Maura dressed up, it would make her look scruffy in jeans and her blouse, but she had stopped as soon as she saw the dress.

Although, Maura thought, the chocolate éclairs that she had brought back up from the pâtisserie for dessert had probably helped as well. Jane hadn't been able to grumble too much with a mouthful of light, frothy cream and delicate chocolate icing. And it looked as if the combination of dress and pastry was still having the desired effect.

'So...you come here often?'

Torn from wondering whether a blue dress and salted caramel éclairs would actually have been better choices, Maura was momentarily stumped. It was a simple enough question, and she hadn't exactly been dreading it...but she couldn't lie either. Despite the fact that the bar was only two streets away from the pâtisserie, she very rarely came here, and the reason was simple. She never usually had anyone to come with.

She just wasn't sure that she wanted to admit that to Jane just yet. But then, she reasoned, she actually had nothing to lose by being honest.

'Not really', she finally admitted. 'I don't really go out that often at all'.

Jane looked up in surprise, and Maura smiled, slightly embarrassed. 'I'm usually working. And when I'm not working...' She paused, wondering how to phrase her non-existent social life, when Jane put down the menu and studied her thoughtfully for a moment.

'Yeah, I get that'.

'You do?'

'Yeah'. Jane gave a wry smile before turning back to the menu. 'Being a homicide cop isn't exactly a sociable job'.

Maura felt a warm feeling start in the pit of her tummy as she realised that Jane had meant what she had said earlier. There really was no need to justify anything, or explain herself, or make excuses. She could just be Maura. She could admit to not having many friends. She could say that, when she did have an evening off, she usually preferred to stay in with Coco and read, and it wouldn't matter to Jane. Jane wouldn't question it. In fact, Maura was beginning to think that Jane might even understand it.

During the few hours that they had spent together that afternoon, Maura's nervous, heady elation had settled down into a pleasant combination of tingly excitement and genuine happiness that Jane seemed to want to spend time with her as much as she wanted to spend time with Jane. She didn't think that she had ever felt so comfortable, so at ease in the company of another person, especially one that she had just met, and, while she didn't really know why that would be, she did know that it felt good. For the first time that she could remember, she felt accepted for who she was - and was actually enjoying herself.

'You're gonna have to translate for me'. Jane finally gave up and handed her back the menu. 'But just to warn you, I'm not really a cocktail person'.

Maura raised one eyebrow as she took the card, and decided that she could risk a bit more teasing.

'I didn't think you would be much of a salad kind of person either, and yet...' She let the rest of her sentence hang in the air.  _You ate a good two-thirds of the one that I made._

Jane inclined her head in acknowledgement.  _You got me_. But her slightly embarrassed grin just made the warm feeling that was lingering in Maura's stomach grow, and start to spread to places that she had almost forgotten existed.

Quickly, she turned her attention to cocktails.

'Well, I last came here a couple of months ago when my mother was in town, and I had...' She scanned the menu. 'This one. White Angel'.

Jane looked puzzled, and Maura pointed to the description.

'Kind of like a martini. Holly Golightly drank it in 'Breakfast at Tiffany's', it's very nice'. She paused, and tried not to laugh at the look on Jane's face. 'But Holly Golightly's not your thing. Okay'.

She lowered her eyes back to the menu, scanning for a more...well,  _masculine_  kind of mix, musing out loud as she went and trying to ignore Jane's increasingly worried-sounding interruptions.

'Vesper Martini...'

'Shaken, not stirred...yeah, maybe not'.

'...Mint Juleps are disgusting, even if F. Scott Fitzgerald liked them...'

'Can't stand mint'.

'...and I think we'll leave the Pan-Galactic Gargle Buster well alone, too...'

'Excuse me?'

Maura looked up. ''Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. I wouldn't recommend it though, unless you really like peach schnapps?'

Jane shook her head mutely, allowing Maura to continue.

'Let's see, now...oh, how about a Smoking Bishop? From 'A Christmas Carol' - Ebenezer Scrooge drank it. It's perhaps more of a winter drink since it comes warm, hence the 'smoking' in the name, but...'

'You trying to tell me something?'

Maura looked up again, puzzled, and then it struck her. From Holly Golightly to Scrooge...she suddenly felt a bit flustered, and was conscious of the blush creeping over her cheeks. She honestly hadn't been trying to tell Jane anything, she just hadn't thought about it like that...

But then she realised that Jane had just been returning the gentle teasing that Maura herself had doled out earlier, and she smiled in relief. Seeing that the waiter was hovering, waiting for their order, she gave up on the literary drinks and turned to the French offerings instead, willing the redness on her face to go away.

'Well...oh, I know. A French 75'.

'What book was that in?'

'It wasn't. It's off their French list. Would you like to try one?'

'Well, that depends', Jane replied, drawling out the words. 'What's in it?'

Maura smiled. She didn't even have to look at the menu. 'Gin, cointreau, a squeeze of lime juice, a sugar cube, and then it's all topped off with champagne'.

'Jesus, Maura!'

'They don't call it a 75 for nothing', Maura laughed, and started to explain as she saw Jane's blank look. 'Harry's Bar, here in Paris, first made it in 1915 during the First World War. It was said to have such a kick that it felt like being shelled with the French 75 millimetre field gun, which was used in battle at the time'.

'And you're encouraging me to drink it?'

Maura shrugged, still grinning. 'I've only ever had it once'.

'Exactly'.

'Okay, okay. So how about...'

'No more'. Jane held up her hands, beginning to laugh herself. 'Fine. A 75. But I am not responsible for what might happen afterwards'.

_What might happen afterwards_...and there it was again. That warm, tingly feeling that had started in her stomach and ended somewhere considerably lower. And the dry mouth. The rapid heart rate.

'And...?'

Maura gave a small start, realising that Jane was indicating the menu.

'What are you having?'

Maura pursed her lips for a moment, trying to think about drinks rather than the growing physical sensations that were trying to get her attention, and that were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

'I, uh...a Rose cocktail', she decided, finally.

As they waited for their drinks to arrive, Maura let her eyes wander from Jane and around the bar that was beginning to fill up with pre-dinner drinkers, and young couples, and larger groups of friends who would probably be heading on to the clubs later. It was a popular place, with a relaxed, friendly atmosphere, but it would, she thought, have made a really lovely bookshop. The shelves still hugged parts of the walls, and the old counter had simply been turned into the bar - a whispered reminder of conversations and discussions and friendly arguments that had once been held over books rather than drinks. And, just to add to the unique vibe, Bar Librairie sometimes had live music playing. Maura had known that, had heard it occasionally when she walked past on a summer's evening on her way to the small Carrefour market to do her grocery shopping. But she had not realised that tonight was one of those nights until a woman's voice began to sing somewhere behind her. The quiet but catchy jazz was accompanied by a piano, and Maura smiled as she felt Jane's foot begin to tap next to hers underneath the table.

Before she could comment, or ask Jane about her usual taste in music, a glass appeared in front of her along with a bowl of olives.

'Une Rose...et un Soixante-quinze'.

'Thought you said they didn't come pink with cherries?'

Maura looked at the cocktail in front of her, and smiled in appreciation at the bright pink colour and the perfectly round cherry that rested at the bottom of the glass. 'No, I said they didn't all come like that. Yours isn't'.

Jane still looked doubtful. 'What's in it?'

'Vermouth, cherry brandy, and raspberry syrup. It was very popular with the Art Deco movement of the 1920s, but it's fallen out of fashion a bit...'

'The twenties were a long time ago'.

'...and I never understand why, it's delicious'.

'Well'. Jane took a deep breath, and raised her own tall, sparkling glass. 'Here goes nothing'.

They clinked glasses, and, as the singer finished the first song to a smattering of applause, took their first sips at the same time.

'Ummm. That is gorgeous'. Maura half-closed her eyes as the smooth, sweet drink slipped down her throat. It had been mixed perfectly, with just the right ratio of alcohol to syrup, and she was just beginning to enjoy the afterkick when she heard Jane's exclamation.

'Holy crap!'

Maura's eyes snapped open in alarm, but that quickly melted into amusement as she saw the expression on Jane's face. The curse had been the result of one sip of the French 75, and Jane was now looking at it as if it was a bomb that might explode at any second.

'Are you sure this stuff is legal?'

'I did warn you. We can swap if you don't like it'.

Jane looked at Maura's cocktail with distaste. 'No, it's ok. I didn't say I didn't like it, I just said...' She took another sip, and screwed up her face as she swallowed. 'Wow. No, it's good'.

Maura laughed as she plucked an olive from the bowl.

'So. Tell me about Italy'.

Jane had mentioned that she and Angela had been to Italy before they came to France since, although the family was Italian, none of them had ever been. Neither had Maura. It was perhaps a surprising omission in the list of places that she had visited, but she had just never had the opportunity. Despite the music and the buzz of conversation in the bar, their table was far enough into the corner that they could still talk comfortably, and Maura tried not to stare as Jane popped an olive into her mouth, leaning back in her chair while thinking about where to start.

'Amazing', she finally replied. 'Hot, sunny, beautiful places, beautiful people...'

_Like you, you mean?_

Maura swallowed the words before she could inadvertently say them out loud.

'...But also...kind of boring after a while'. Jane looked almost ashamed to admit it, but carried on regardless. 'We did Rome, and all the usual, you know, tourist sights...the Spanish Steps, and the Colosseum, and everything else, the museums and art galleries and stuff. Then we went on to Florence - because apparently Ma's family came from there - and that was almost exactly the same'. She paused. 'Originally we were gonna have the whole two weeks in Italy. Paris was a bit of last minute decision just before we booked the flights, and I wasn't convinced, but...well'. She shrugged. 'I'm glad we did that now'.

Even Maura couldn't miss the meaning behind those words.

'And, uh...' Maura wasn't sure that she wanted to ask this question. Or rather, she wasn't sure that she would want to know the answer. 'How long are you here for?'

'Another day. We fly back to Boston Sunday afternoon'.

'Oh'.

That wasn't long at all.

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, each sipping their cocktails and lost in their own thoughts. Maura wondered if Jane's were anything like hers - that she really, really liked this woman, despite knowing her for just twenty four hours. She wanted to spend more time with her, to show her all the nicest places in Paris, to have long, leisurely lunches and romantic dinners, and get to know her properly with all the little details that only a lover would know, and...

Wait.

She was getting completely carried away.

Taking a deep breath and looking around her, she could see that the bar was now crowded, and that some couples were dancing to the jazz in the small space in front of the piano. She wondered briefly - and then dismissed it.

'I'll need another one of these before I do that'.

Maura turned to see that Jane had followed her gaze, and had obviously guessed what she was thinking. But it made them both smile, and broke the silence that had started to become heavy with the idea of Jane having to leave just as something was starting.

Because Maura felt like something really was starting. And she could tell that Jane thought so too.

After that, though, the conversation flowed just as it had done back in Maura's apartment. They finished the cocktails, and although Jane declined another 75 in favour of a beer, Maura decided to let loose a bit and get another Rose while they both agreed on another bowl of olives and some plain popcorn. And it was then, halfway through that second round of drinks, that nature finally caught up with Maura and she stood, bracing herself to push her way through the crowds to the ladies' bathroom.

'Bonsoir'.

He was blocking her path halfway to the bar, and, as Maura's eyes travelled upwards from the perfectly-muscular chest that was covered in a Ralph Lauren shirt, she had to resist the urge to groan out loud.

'Bonsoir, Antoine'.

Antoine Dupré had been trying his luck with Maura for the last five years, ever since he had moved back to Paris to live with his parents just down the street. He was good looking and knew it, and, when he wanted to be, was the epitome of French charm. When he didn't want to be, he was still nice enough and had actually always been very pleasant to Maura, helping her out on a few occasions with various odd maintenance jobs. But he worked in the family fromagerie, and, as a result, he always held a faint smell of cheese. Maura, of course, had never told him that, and besides, it wasn't the only reason she had always refused his advances. Despite the fantastic body and the handiness with a screwdriver, there was something about him that just wasn't her type.

'Je peux vous offrir un verre?'

'Non, merci'. Maura forced a smile as she tried to wriggle her way around him.

'Juste une?'

'Antoine...' Maura sighed in exasperation, but he had already turned away from her and signalled the waiter. She looked around at Jane, mouthing the words ' _help me out here_ ' just as Antoine placed his hand on her arm and leaned in to say something in her ear.

Was that a faint hint of jealousy that mingled in with the amusement on Jane's face?

Maura turned back to Antoine, not wanting to be totally rude but not wanting to encourage him either, and was just about to tell him that she was really here with a friend and that she should get back - after she had been to the bathroom - when she felt a warm hand on her hip.

That hand was definitely not Antoine's.

And then her eyes widened and a small squeak came from her throat as she felt soft lips on her ear.

Those lips weren't Antoine's, either.

Judging by the awed, slightly lustful expression that suddenly swamped the Frenchman's face, it was actually Jane.

'You ok?'

Maura swallowed as she felt the hand pull her closer in towards Jane's body. She could sense the smile on Jane's lips, and could almost hear the words that Jane would have spoken if she hadn't been worried that Antoine would understand English.  _Play along here, you did ask for my help._

So she took a deep breath, willed her heart to stop hammering so hard, and leaned into Jane, smiling at Antoine as she did so.

'Fine, thank you. Jane, this is Antoine. His family owns the fromagerie at the end of the street. Antoine, Jane'.

'Enchanté!'

Maura felt Jane stiffen up with trying not to laugh.

'Yeah, you too'.

'Ah, American!' Antoine's face lit up even more as he tried out his halting English. 'You come from New York?'

Maura choked down another squeak as Jane's fingers began to draw lazy circles around her hip bone. Even through the green dress, she could feel the trail of fiery goose pimples that they left in their wake, and knowing that Jane's face was so close to hers really didn't help matters. All she would have to do would be to turn her head slightly, and...

'No, Boston'.

'Ah'. Antoine looked a bit disappointed, and Maura grabbed her chance.

'We should really get back before the waiter clears our table...'

'Of course'. Antoine nodded, although he still looked a little taken aback. 'Another time'.

'But I thought you needed the bathroom?'

Maura tried to ignore the tickly, tingly sensation that shot all the way down from Jane's lips on her ear to...well, it went a long way. Bathroom. Yes, that was the reason she had left the table in the first place, and she nodded. And so, with a last gentle squeeze of Maura's hip, Jane headed back to the table, leaving Maura to make her shaky, slightly giddy way past Antoine to the ladies.

She took her time. It took a few minutes for her to stop trembling and, when she looked in the mirror as she washed her hands, she realised that she was flushed the same colour as her cocktail. Thank God, she thought, that she always had a small stash of emergency makeup in her purse.

But she couldn't shake the memory of Jane's hand on her. The long fingers, and the rough, almost scarred, feel of her palm...what had shocked her was how it felt so natural. And how badly she wanted more.

When she finally returned to the table, Jane was eating her way through the popcorn with a thoughtful look on her face, and she looked up apologetically as Maura approached.

'Sorry about that'.

'Why?' Maura smiled as she sat down. She certainly wasn't sorry. 'It was, uh...' Oh, hell. She took a deep breath. 'It was nice. And I did ask for your help'.

'Nice?'

Maura caught the smirk on Jane's face.

'Yes', she nodded, returning the smile before becoming more serious. She didn't want Jane to think that she meant her next words as a joke. 'It...well, it felt good'.

But it hadn't felt nearly as good as when Jane nodded slowly in agreement.

'Yeah, it did'.

They finished their drinks, skirting around what had happened and talking about Italy, Angela, Maura's upcoming commitments at the patisserie...anything but the spark that now hummed between them, as if ignoring it would eventually make it go away. As if they wanted it to go away. But, when they finally left the bar and walked out into the cool night air, Jane tentatively, almost warily, slipped her hand into Maura's. And Maura, without thinking about it, wrapped her fingers around Jane's.

Maura had always loved cities at night, but especially Paris, and especially in the summer. The darkness seemed to hide all the grubby corners, while the lights from the restaurants and cafes and bars seemed to sparkle invitingly and the air came alive with the sounds of a city that never slept. But tonight, walking back to her apartment hand in hand with Jane, her senses magnified everything to the point where even the streets that she knew so well seemed almost magical in their transformation. And there could only be one reason for that.

Or maybe it was the cocktails.

They had reached the pâtisserie and, not wanting Jane to leave, Maura turned to her, keeping their hands firmly entwined. She wondered vaguely if this was a good idea, but didn't want to stop and think too hard. She hadn't done this for a very long time.

'Would you like to come up? For coffee?'

She saw Jane take a deep breath, saw everything flash across those brown eyes even in the semi-darkness. She could tell that Jane wanted to say yes, but also wasn't sure whether she should, because they both knew that it would not just be for coffee. It was then she realised that it had maybe been a long time for Jane, as well.

'I'm not sure that's a good idea'.

Despite the sharp pang of disappointment, Maura understood. Jane didn't want to take it any further when she would be leaving in a couple of days...and that was fair enough.

But then she felt Jane's other hand on her cheek, and her heart began to thud.

'You know when I said I wasn't responsible for anything that might happen after that cocktail?'

Jane's face was close now, her eyes dark, and Maura could only nod.

'I just thought you should know this isn't a French field gun talking'.

And then her lips were on Maura's, and the rest of the world disappeared. All Maura could feel or think about was that soft mouth on hers, the gentle hands touching her skin, and the sensations that flooded through her as Jane let go of Maura's hand in order to run her fingers through Maura's hair and down her back. Maura moaned as her own hands touched Jane's face, ran over high cheekbones and into dark curls before resting on Jane's shoulders for support as she felt Jane's tongue gently probing, asking to go further. It was a request that was quickly granted...and the sudden thought of that tongue elsewhere on her body made Maura feel dizzy. She couldn't breathe, but that didn't matter. She wouldn't have been able to stand upright by herself, but that didn't matter either. Her whole body was humming, throbbing, and she pressed even closer to Jane. She wanted more, even though she wasn't sure she could stand it.

She had never felt that way from just a kiss.

When they finally broke apart, Jane rested her forehead against Maura's and cupped her face with both hands. Maura could feel her desire, but could also sense her hesitation and, although she didn't want to break the spell, she whispered as her own hands wrapped around Jane's waist.

'What are you thinking?'

Jane inhaled deeply, as if trying to control her emotions as well as her breathing, and opened her eyes to look into Maura's.

'I'm thinking that Boston is a long way away', she admitted, and Maura's stomach contracted. She didn't want to think about that. Not now.

'Don't', she murmured, and she felt Jane nod slightly.

But, even as they kissed again, she knew that Jane would probably still not come up to the apartment...and that maybe it was for the best.

They still had tomorrow. And she was determined to spend every moment of it that she could with Jane.

* * *

_A/N - I thought I should probably reference the books used in this chapter properly (and also point out that I don't own any of them, either!). So here they are, along with their respective cocktails:_

Breakfast at Tiffany's _by Truman Capote (White Angel)_

Casino Royale _(and other James Bond) by Ian Fleming (Vesper Martini)_

The Great Gatsby _by F Scott Fitzgerald (Mint Julep)_

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy _by Douglas Adams (Pan-Galactic Gargle Buster - I don't think any self-respecting Parisian bar would actually serve this, but it was fun to write)._

_The French 75 and the Rose are also real cocktails._


	6. An American in Paris Part III

'You are joking'.

Jane stared at the racks of black bicycles, hoping against hope that Maura wasn't suggesting what she thought she was suggesting. She was already remembering, in vivid detail, the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Champs-Élysées when she and Angela had walked it a couple of days before. She recalled the way in which the taxi drivers blatantly ignored all known rules of the road in favour of leaning on the horn and pressing the gas pedal. And she shuddered at the memory of the semi-controlled chaos that she had seen around the Arc de Triomphe - really just a huge roundabout that happened to have one of the city's most famous tourist attractions right in its centre.

There was no way that she was riding a bike through all of that.

But Maura just nodded, with that bright, slightly child-like smile lighting up her face. It was the smile that Jane already knew she couldn't say no to, and she groaned. She didn't particularly want to go back to Boston, but neither did she want to end up staying in a Parisian emergency room. And her mother wasn't helping matters at all.

'What a great idea! How did you say it works, Maura?'

'There are bike racks like this all over the city', Maura explained. 'You pay two euros -with a credit card into the machine, there - and it gives you a code to unlock a bike. Two euros gets you the whole day, and you can drop the bike back at any of the racks. It doesn't have to be the same one you got it from'.

'Wow. And just two euros! They should try this at home, don't you think, Janie?'

'They did, Ma'. Jane was still looking doubtfully at Maura. 'In New York. The bikes kept getting stolen'.

'Well, that's just terrible'.

'Maura, are you sure this is...'

'Safe?' Maura finished for her, still smiling. 'Of course. There are lots of cycle routes around the city that take in the sights without going on the major roads. And you can see a lot more than if you walked it'.

Jane sighed. Her mother had already pinged her card into the machine and was waiting for the ticket that would give her the unlock code, and Jane began to get the feeling that she didn't really have a choice in this venture any more. Digging in her pocket, she grudgingly pulled out her wallet and fumbled for her card.

'If I end up squished by the Eiffel Tower, it's all your fault', she warned, only half joking, but Maura shook her head earnestly.

'The route I was thinking about doesn't actually take you beside the Eiffel Tower, so you won't have any kind of accident there'.

Jane raised her eyebrows. 'Oh. Ok. That's reassuring. Because I was kind of hoping to be flattened beside Notre-Dame instead. Being a Catholic, and all'.

'Oh'. Maura looked puzzled for a moment, and then nodded. 'Your mother mentioned Notre-Dame as well...I'm sure we could fit it in'.

Jane couldn't decide between laughing, rolling her eyes and sitting down on the pavement and pretending it wasn't happening. So, as Maura turned away to help Angela with the unlock code, she took the opportunity to do all three. She wasn't sure about any of this. Cycling through Paris...spending the whole day with Maura...

The more she saw of Maura, the more attracted she felt. She enjoyed the other woman's company, and it was unusual for her to feel so easy and natural with someone, especially someone that she had only just met. For once, she didn't feel the need to prove anything, and the idea that she could just be herself was a new one for her. One that she decided she quite liked. The physical side of that...well, Jane had tried her best to ignore Maura's devastating combination of sexiness and innocence, and had failed miserably. Just thinking about it sent her body haywire and, no matter how many times she told herself to get a grip, she couldn't seem to stop it.

She had also tried telling herself, over and over again, the same thing that she had said to Maura the previous evening - that Boston was a very long way away. The sensible part of her had really meant it, and she knew that taking things any further was not the greatest idea when she had less than forty eight hours left in Paris. It wouldn't be fair on either of them, and so, after the most incredible kiss that had left her body begging for more, she had forced herself to leave Maura's apartment and get a taxi back to the hotel. But despite her head telling her that leaving was indeed for the best, the rest of her had refused to co-operate. She had found herself regretting it almost immediately, and the only thing that had got her through the rest of the night - alone - was the thought that they had agreed to meet up again before Jane left.

Now, though, some of those earlier doubts were resurfacing. And she was even less sure about bringing her mother along for the ride, especially now that she had found out what Maura had in mind for the day. Quite apart from the fact that Angela was capable of single-handedly putting Maura off the Rizzoli family for life, Jane couldn't remember the last time that she had seen her mother on a bike. It was a recipe for disaster.

She still had no idea how Maura had managed to leave the pâtisserie on a Saturday. The phone call at eight that morning had taken her by surprise, and she had forgotten to ask.

_'Rizzoli'. The greeting was force of habit, even though she knew that no one from the police department was likely to be calling her in Paris._

_'Hi, Jane, it's...well, it's Maura'._

_Of course it was Maura. Jane would know that voice anywhere now._

_'Hey'. She was aware of her voice softening, could see her mother looking at her curiously, and she turned away to face out of the window of her room as she spoke. 'Shouldn't you be baking something?'_

_'Not on a Saturday, it's all done'. But Jane could almost hear Maura's smile down the phone, and she felt a sudden, unexpected tugging in her gut, along with the butterflies that made her feel like she was seventeen again. This was not good. Was it?_

_'Anyway', Maura continued, 'I wondered if...well, I wondered if you still wanted to meet up again today. Because I can take all day. Out of the_ _pâtisserie_ _, I mean...I can be free all day. If you still wanted to do something, that is...but don't worry if not, I...'_

_'Maura'. Jane interrupted the nervous flow, a wide smile spreading across her own face despite her reservations. 'Yeah, I still want to. But...' She lowered her voice, even though she knew that Angela was still listening, and would still hear every word. 'Ma. I'd feel a bit bad leaving her for another day'._

_'Don't you worry about me. There was a very nice young man in the Loof who was telling me all about the paintings, I wouldn't mind another art history lesson'. Angela's voice was loud enough that Maura heard it on the other end of the phone, and Jane heard her laugh even as she fought down her own groan of embarrassment._

_'It's the Louvre, Ma. And that's the point. You're a public hazard on your own'._

_'Bring her with you'._

_Jane wasn't sure that she had heard correctly. 'You don't really mean that'._

_'Of course I do, bring her along. I could meet you at ten at the Place Vendôme, do you know where that is?'_

_'Yeah, I think so'._

Angela, for once, had not asked too many questions, and that had worried Jane as well. The long, thoughtful looks when she thought Jane wasn't looking, and the questioningly raised eyebrows every so often were almost worse than being given the third degree. All Jane had told her was that she had been back to the pâtisserie for more cakes, and had struck up a conversation with the owner - and that they had got on quite well.

She had no intention of telling her mother just how well. But she had a horrible feeling that Angela had worked it out all by herself.

'Janie? Are you coming, or are you sitting in the street all day?'

Jane couldn't help smiling as she looked up to see Angela all set to go, while Maura fed her own card into the machine. She also couldn't help noticing how the honey-blonde's jeans fit her so perfectly, and how the light pink top that she was wearing brought out the colour of her hazel eyes, and... _Stop it, Rizzoli_. She had to be stern with herself.  _There is a time and a place, and a Paris sidewalk at ten in the morning is not it_.

She took a deep breath, and hauled herself up off the ground.

'Yeah, coming'.

Maura took the lead, cycling in front of Jane and navigating her way through what seemed like a maze of streets towards the northern end of the city, all the while keeping up a running commentary of the history of the particular area that they were passing through. Behind her, Jane could hear her mother exclaiming at almost everything that they passed, and she resisted the urge to turn around and tell her to watch the road instead. But, after they had crossed the boulevard des Capucines and passed the Opéra Garnier, she found herself relaxing - and even beginning to enjoy herself.

Jane had thought that she and Angela had done a fair bit of sight-seeing in the few days that they had been in Paris, but she knew that they would never have found the little streets that they were now cycling along. They were a world away from the grand boulevards and crowded thoroughfares that Jane had assumed made up the bulk of the city, and it took them just half an hour to reach the bottom of Montmartre, where she caught a glimpse of the Moulin Rouge before they started climbing the hill to Sacré-Coeur. Jane had been able to see its impressive tower and ice-cream-scoop dome from her hotel room window, and she had seen pictures of the view over the city from this point. But nothing had prepared her for the actual thing, with the beautiful, almost delicate-looking church behind her and the silvery roofs of the city stretching ahead of her, into the faint heat haze that hung over the horizon. Despite the crowds of other tourists that had had the same idea, she could still hear the sounds of traffic drifting slowly up from below them, on the slight breeze that teased her hair and cooled her skin from the hot ride up the hill. It seemed almost peaceful.

Then it was down again, on a slightly different route to the one they had cycled up, through the leafy squares and chic streets of the place des Abbesses, past the seedy bars and strip joints that made up Pigalle, and then left, through the seemingly-endless streets of Les Halles and into the Marais, with its Renaissance buildings that housed tiny boutiques and galleries and cafes. Maura insisted that they stop for crêpes at a cafe on the edge of the Jewish quarter that Jane would have walked straight past had she been on her own, and Jane didn't think she had ever tasted anything like it. So simple, and yet so delicious...when she said that to Maura, the smile of pleasure that she had received in return had been as genuine as if Maura had made the crêpes herself. It was then that Jane realised Maura was proud to be able to show Jane around her city, to take her to the places that were her own favourites, and to share the quietly enchanting side of Paris that the tourist trail so often missed.

It was so personal...and that made it incredibly special.

Then, because Angela still wanted to see Notre-Dame, they made their way across the Pont de Sully to the village-like Ile St-Louis and the larger Ile de la Cité, the islands in the middle of the Seine that formed the city's ancient core. There, they stood in awe of the gothic masterpiece of the cathedral, taking photos underneath the baleful gaze of the gargoyles and watching the afternoon sun sparkle and dance over the river. After some deliberation, Angela decided to take a look inside, leaving Jane and Maura to look after the bikes.

'Don't you two disappear without me, now!'

'Not much chance of that', Jane muttered, rolling her eyes as she plopped down onto a bench that overlooked the water. Maura laughed, and propped the bikes neatly against the wall before joining Jane on the bench.

'Your mother's lovely'.

'She likes you'.

'Really?'

Maura sounded surprised, and Jane nodded. 'She gave you a proper hug after those crêpes. Not one of her 'I'm giving you a hug to be polite because you just bought me a really nice lunch but I actually can't stand you' kind of hugs'.

'Oh'.

'Beware, though. She was a helicopter mom before they even invented the term'.

'Maybe. I always wanted one of those'.

Jane looked over at Maura in amazement, and saw the slightly wistful look on her face.

'Seriously? Well, you can have her. Or at least borrow her for while'.

'Do I get the brothers as well?'

'You get the lot', Jane declared. 'Take mom and I'll throw Frankie and Tommy in for free'.

'I always did wonder what it would be like to have siblings. And...well. A mother who was actually around for longer than a couple of weeks at a time'.

Jane looked at her curiously. From what she had gathered, Maura had grown up in an incredibly privileged home, and had been given every opportunity that money could buy. But, it seemed, the old clichés about money, love and happiness were actually true.

'Trust me'. She groaned as she stretched out muscles that she hadn't used for years until today. 'The whole brother-sister thing - it's not as fun as they make out'.

She knew that Maura had noticed that she hadn't made the same joke about mothers.

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, enjoying the opportunity to rest again after cycling from the Marais. The view across to the Left Bank was stunning, and Jane found herself drinking it in, trying to commit it all to memory. The sight of St Germain and the Jardin de Luxembourg from that unique vantage point, the sounds of the city that seemed to echo across the water, the colours that seemed so vivid in the sunlight. The feeling of Maura sitting next to her, and the scent of her perfume mingling with the smell of the trees and the grass. The light touch of Maura's hand on hers, and the softness of her skin, and the quiet tone of her voice when she spoke.

'Thank you for today'.

'What?' Jane turned around, her brow furrowed in confusion. Why was Maura thanking her? Surely it should be the other way around?

Maura smiled. 'For spending the day with me. You didn't have to, and it could have been...well, I was worried that...'

Her voice trailed off, but Jane thought she knew what Maura had been trying to say. She had been worried that it would be awkward between them. And, if she was honest, Jane had wondered the same thing.

But it hadn't been.

'I should be thanking you'. Jane suddenly remembered that she had no idea how Maura had managed to organise this unexpected day in the first place. 'How did you manage to leave the shop?'

Maura gave another little smile. 'Both Amélie and Hélène work on a Saturday with me anyway - Amélie does the morning, and Hélène does the afternoon. I usually just do all day in the shop, it's too busy to be making anything unless we have an emergency. So after you left last night, I sent a couple of text messages to see if they would mind working all day. Neither of them had any plans, so they were happy to. And it's been a while since I had a whole day off'.

'Wow, well...thank you'.

'No, it's my pleasure'. And there was that smile again. Combined with the feel of Maura's hand in hers, it was starting to do things to Jane that she was fairly sure were not appropriate, considering the fact that they were outside a Catholic cathedral. And what Maura had said was nagging at her. Even though she didn't really want to bring it up, there were some things that she suddenly felt she needed to say.

_After you left..._

'You know when I left last night, I...'. She paused. She was terrible at this kind of conversation, and couldn't seem to find the right words to articulate exactly what it was that she wanted to tell Maura. 'Well, it wasn't because I didn't want to stay'.

Maura's fingers squeezed hers.

'I know'.

'You do?' Jane was fairly sure that she hadn't explained anything beyond 'this maybe isn't a good idea', but Maura nodded.

'You're leaving tomorrow'.

Jane sighed. 'Yeah, I'm leaving tomorrow'. She paused. 'Really wish I wasn't, though'.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Maura nod again, and smile.

'I know'.

Jane refrained from asking if there was anything that Maura didn't know, suspecting that Maura would take the question far too seriously. Instead, she found herself twisting around to fully face Maura on the bench, and heard herself saying the words that she had tried, and failed, to find just a few moments before.

'I didn't stay because I don't want a one night thing, and I didn't think I had the right to ask you for anything more. Considering the four thousand miles, and the seven hours on a plane, and the six hour time difference which I am guaranteed to forget if I ever tried to call you. I kind of thought...well, you're too good for that. You deserve better...' She stopped speaking as her brain finally caught up with her mouth, and almost groaned as she ran her free hand through her hair in frustration at herself. 'And I cannot believe I just said all that when I've only known you for forty eight hours'.

Was Maura actually smiling?

Jane saw Maura reach out for her other hand and, slightly unwillingly, she dropped the strand of hair she was tugging. She felt Maura's thumb lightly, almost distractedly, run over her fingers and caress the back of her hand and her palm, gently backwards and forwards, and gradually Maura's smile faded as she looked thoughtfully at Jane.

'What if I said that's what I want?'

Jane took a deep breath.

'Maura...'

'What if I don't care about the distance and the horrible flight and being woken up in the middle of the night because you've forgotten that Paris is six hours ahead?' She paused, and Jane saw her swallow before she continued in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. 'What if I think you're worth it?'

Jane blinked as she realised that Maura was being serious, and for a moment, she had no idea what to say. Her mind was whirling, but she couldn't make any sense of her thoughts. The only one that stood out was that she had no idea what she was doing, but she wanted Maura. And now she knew that Maura wanted her too.

'Jane?' Maura was looking slightly terrified as she looked at Jane, biting her bottom lip. 'What would you say?'

Still too stunned to form a proper response, Jane heard herself say the first thing that had come into her mind.

'I'd say you must be mad'.

She saw Maura's uncertain expression, and tried to get some kind of grip, to grab hold of what rational thought she had left. She didn't want to mess this up.

'Mad...but very definitely worth it. I want you, Maura. For longer than the twenty four hours I've got left here. I'm just not sure how it's going to work, exactly...'

'One day at a time'.

One day at a time. One email, one phone call, one Skype conversation, possibly even one flight, at a time.

It sounded so easy.

Jane felt Maura slip her hand free and, seconds later, felt those same fingers on her cheek. She saw the expression of wonder, of relief, of pure happiness on Maura's face, and knew that, despite all her concerns, her own was probably the same. She saw Maura move her head impossibly slowly towards her, knew what was coming, and had to resist the urge to pull her closer so that their lips would meet sooner. But when they finally did, and she tasted the sweetness of Maura's mouth on hers, she wanted time to stop. She wasn't aware of anything else around them. All her senses were in overdrive, full to overflowing with Maura, and as their kiss grew deeper, she was hit suddenly by the overwhelming feeling that this was how things were meant to be.

When they pulled apart several minutes later, she almost swore out loud as, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Angela standing on the cathedral steps, thanking a guide before making her way down and over towards their bench. Still breathing hard, Jane swallowed, and moved back slightly. It wasn't that she was ashamed...just that she didn't want her mother to find out like this. And not yet. She wanted Maura to herself for a bit longer.

Besides, she was having horrible flashbacks to the time that her mother had caught her with Danny Shor in the back garden at Tommy's sixteenth birthday party. She had thought then that she would never, ever live to be as embarrassed as she had been at that moment. But if her mother was to find her kissing Maura outside Notre Dame...well, that would probably put the Danny Shor incident in the shade.

She looked back at Maura, intending to try and explain - although what, exactly, she was going to say in the few seconds that she had before Angela reached them, she wasn't sure. But before she could even open her mouth, she saw Maura smile. She felt Maura squeeze her hand, and then gently let go. And the wordless understanding that she saw in Maura's eyes almost made her cry with gratitude.

'That was incredible, you really should have come in!' Angela sat down beside Jane, gesturing with her hands to show just how incredible it had been. 'I didn't join one of those tours, that would have taken too long, but one of the guides was very helpful anyway...'

As she went on, apparently oblivious to what she had almost interrupted, Jane had to try not to laugh. All of a sudden, she felt a bit hysterical. She couldn't help it, and she had to make a conscious effort to wipe what she was sure was a really goofy grin off her face. Everything suddenly felt totally surreal, and, catching Maura's eye behind her mother's back, she saw that Maura was having the same problem. She was just better at hiding it.

'I'm really pleased you enjoyed it, Angela'.

'Oh, I did - and I haven't thanked you properly, Maura, it's been a fantastic day'.

'You're welcome, but...' As Maura stood up and smiled over at Angela, Jane couldn't help but admire her poise. 'We have one more stop to make'.

'We do?' Jane didn't think that Maura had mentioned anything else, and she wasn't sure that her legs would take much more of the bike. But she still took the hand that Maura was innocently holding out to her, and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

'We do', Maura confirmed. 'A Paris institution'.

But Jane was still too dazed to play guessing games, and Maura relented as she straddled her bike, the happy anticipation plain on her face.

'Angelina's. For the best chocolat chaud in town'.

* * *

_A/N - The Vélib' bike-sharing system in Paris is real - but I've simplified the way it works slightly. Online booking and deposits and increasing price scales were far too complicated for this story!_


	7. Audrey, Coco and Chocolat Chaud

'Maura, it's got to be one of the hottest days of the year so far, and we're here for hot chocolate?'

Jane had taken a seat opposite Maura, and was looking around her with an expression of slightly terrified awe on her face. Smiling over at her, trying to put her at ease, Maura wondered if the terror was down to their recent conversation and near miss with Angela, or the high-end gilt-and-marble interior of Angelina's. Somehow, she suspected it was the latter. Jane had looked as if she was cycling on air all the way from Notre-Dame to the Jardin des Tuileries, where they had deposited the bikes, and had only begun to hesitate when she saw the entrance to the salon de thé.

'Unfortunate, I know', Maura conceded. 'But you can't come to Paris and not have chocolate at Angelina's. Or anything, really, the cakes are wonderful too. But the chocolat l'Africain is...well. You'll see'.

She didn't add that Angelina's was one of her own favourite places and that, having taken Jane and Angela to so many of her others that day, she hadn't wanted to miss Angelina's off the list. Neither did she mention that Angelina's was the place that she always went to when she had something to celebrate. Maura's mother had started the tradition by marking the opening of her first Paris exhibition with a large chocolat chaud and a side of whipped cream, while four-year old Maura had received a mini version of the same. It had been one of the few occasions that she could remember when her mother had actually included her in anything, and, perhaps for that reason as much as the chocolate, it had stuck in her mind. After that, Angelina's had become something of a ritual whenever there was something that warranted a visit...even if she did mostly go on her own.

All her early birthdays. Moving to Boston. Moving back from Boston. Passing her test for a French driving licence, which, in Paris, was no mean feat. Signing the lease on the pâtisserie and apartment. The opening of the pâtisserie. Her first wedding cake order. The arrival of Coco.

Now, after her conversation with Jane on the bench outside Notre-Dame, she felt like she had something to celebrate again.

'It's certainly...well...' Angela looked around her, drinking it all in with wide eyes, and Maura chuckled as she saw that, for once, Jane's mother was struggling for words.

'Posh?' Jane supplied. She still looked a little uncomfortable, but not nearly as worried as when she had first walked in. Maybe, Maura thought, the smell of the chocolate was working its magic already.

'Yes, but it feels nicely posh'. Angela settled into her seat. 'More kind of...'

'Decadent?' Maura had always thought that the word could probably have been invented to describe Angelina's, and Angela evidently agreed.

'Yes!' She nodded vigorously. 'That's exactly it'.

'And they even named it after you, Ma'. Jane grinned over at her mother, who gave her a 'don't be so silly' kind of smile in return. Because of that, Maura was fairly sure that Jane had been joking, but found herself explaining the real origins of the name anyway. It never hurt to have a bit of background.

'It was actually founded in 1903 by an Austrian', she said as she picked up a menu and handed it to Angela. 'Antoine Rumpelmayer. He named it after his daughter-in-law. It's had quite a few famous patrons...Audrey Hepburn used to come here'.

'Oh, really?' Angela looked delighted, and Jane rolled her eyes.

'You'll never get her out of here now'.

Maura's eyes twinkled as she caught Jane's gaze. She remembered Jane mentioning her mother's sudden, post-divorce addiction to films, and, now that she thought about it, she did recall 'Roman Holiday' being specifically mentioned as one that Jane would be quite happy never to have to see again.

'Do you like Audrey Hepburn films, Angela?'

'Oh, I love them!' Angela's face broke into a beaming smile. 'Especially...'

'Especially 'Roman Holiday''. Jane grimaced, with a look at Maura that said she would be paying later for bringing this up.

'Yes, and 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'. I just love her in that, so elegant and refined!'

Maura almost laughed as she remembered the cocktails from the previous evening. No wonder Jane hadn't wanted a White Angel.

'Well, Audrey Hepburn wasn't the only one'. She paused. 'Coco Chanel came here too'.

It was impossible to miss Jane's delighted smirk, and Maura knew that she was thinking about the other Coco. She decided against mentioning that the tortoise had, like her famous namesake, patronised Angelina's...via the occasional takeout strawberry tart. It had become their own little tradition - Maura would eat the tart, Coco would eat the strawberry on top. And, despite the fact that she sold almost exactly the same thing herself, there was something about getting it from Angelina's that made it seem like a proper treat.

The tortoise certainly thought so, anyway.

'Well, I guess Angelina Rumpel-whatsit must have liked marble'. Jane straightened up, and peered over her mother's shoulder at the menu. 'And glass. It's like one of those fairground hall of mirror places in here'.

'Oh, stop it, Janie'. Angela slapped her daughter lightly on the arm before looking over at Maura. 'So what would you recommend, Maura?'

'Chocolat l'Africain'. Maura replied without hesitation. 'With a side of whipped cream'.

Jane looked over at her, eyebrows raised.

'Are you trying to send me back to Boston a whole dress size bigger than when I arrived?'

Maura took a deep breath. Could she risk a little flirting?

She couldn't resist it.

'Oh, you'll thank me for it later'. Her voice was a deliberate purr, and she saw Jane's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. It was enough, and she made sure that she allowed Jane to see a glimpse of her satisfied smile before she turned around to locate a waiter.

Angela, fortunately, seemed oblivious.

As they waited for their order to arrive, Maura let Jane and Angela settle into their own conversation, and allowed her mind to wander. The happy buzz that had settled in her stomach after they had left Notre-Dame seemed to grow and spread a little as she recalled, word for word, the conversation with Jane. She had never laid herself on the line like that before. And she had been so terrified that Jane wouldn't want her, wouldn't want the same thing that she did...although she couldn't have blamed her if she hadn't. They had known each other for precisely two days. It shouldn't have been long enough to be talking about anything more than having a good time while they could.

But Maura knew that, if Jane had lived closer, there would have been no question about the good time developing into something more. When Jane had said that she wanted more as well, despite the distance...Maura had hardly been able to contain her delight, and relief, and gratitude that Jane was willing to give her a chance under less than ideal circumstances.

She had no idea why Jane had chosen to risk it. She also had no real idea why Jane wanted her as much as she seemed to. And just as she was starting to wonder how she could ask without making it seem like she was fishing for compliments, she was interrupted by the arrival of three chocolats with two sides of whipped cream.

That was the end of her thoughts on her relationship with Jane - whatever that relationship was. It was also the end of Jane and Angela's playful bickering. The table descended into a kind of reverent silence as all three of them contemplated the chocolate, and, finally, Jane raised her eyes to Maura's.

'Looks like you might be right'.

_I will be thanking you later_.

As an exercise in seduction by hot chocolate, Maura thought, it was pretty good - except that, soon, she wasn't sure who was seducing whom. As the rich, velvety chocolate, so thick that it almost needed a spoon, slipped down, she saw Jane's eyes become darker and darker, and heard the odd moan of pleasure escape her lips - moans which Maura couldn't help imagining hearing in a very different setting. A jolt of heat hit her stomach that had nothing to do with the warm drink, and, as she purposefully lingered over a mouthful of whipped cream, the knowledge that those dark eyes were resting on her mouth sent a throbbing sensation right down to her core.

'Oh wow'.

Maura gave a small start. She had almost forgotten that Angela was there.

'No wonder Audrey Hepburn came here. Did she have these too?'

'I, uh...' Maura tried to ignore Jane, who was busy licking thick chocolate from her spoon. 'I would imagine so. They've been making these for a long time - it's what they're famous for'.

'How the hell did she stay so skinny?'

'Ma!' Jane's attention was finally drawn from Maura and the chocolate. 'Really?'

'Well, it's a valid question!' Angela protested, putting down her spoon. 'If I came to Paris often, I'd be having these all the time, and they'd go straight to my hips and my butt'.

Maura tried to choke down her splutter of laughter at the disbelieving look on Jane's face.

'I don't think she came here that often, and I don't think you need to worry. One won't hurt, and you have been cycling all day'.

Angela looked at her almost-empty mug. 'Good thing, too'.

As Jane and Maura finished their chocolate, the conversation continued flowing in much the same vein, but Maura was now aware of Jane's eyes on her even more acutely than before. She couldn't help wondering, as she scooped up the last of the cream...Jane had left the previous evening because she hadn't wanted to take advantage. She hadn't wanted a one night stand.

But now they had established that they both wanted more than that.

So she couldn't help wondering whether Jane would do the same thing again.

She found out not long afterwards, when they finally, reluctantly, prepared to leave Angelina's. Checking her watch, Maura felt a pang of disappointment as she realised that it was now late in the afternoon. She couldn't really prolong the day any longer and besides, she thought that Angela would probably want to get back to the hotel. There would be packing to do, and Angela would more than likely want to spend the last evening of the trip with Jane. But, suddenly, Maura didn't feel ready to say goodbye. Especially not here, in Angelina's.

That would definitely not be a celebration.

'You know...' Angela looked thoughtful as she waited for her card to process - despite Maura's protestations, she had insisted on paying the bill. 'I'm really tired, and I have a lot of packing to do, but you don't seem to have that much, Janie'.

'Yeah, that's because I didn't unpack my entire suitcase when we got here, Ma'.

'So why don't you two stay out for a bit and enjoy yourselves? I'll just head back to the hotel'.

_Thank you, Angela._

Angela was looking from Jane to Maura, while Maura looked at Jane and Jane looked at Maura. Maura really hoped that Angela didn't notice the electricity that suddenly seemed to hum between them, or the way that her seemingly-innocent suggestion had taken on a much heavier meaning. And she found herself holding her breath, waiting for Jane to decide.

'Sounds good. If you, uh, don't have anything else planned?'

Maura exhaled, slowly, before realising that Jane was looking at her, and she quickly shook her head.

'You'll be ok, Ma?'

'Of course! You two go and have fun'.

And, as they got up to leave, the smile that Maura saw on Angela's face made Maura think that, perhaps, the suggestion hadn't been so innocent after all.

They emerged onto the rue Rivoli just as the sun was beginning to disappear behind the tallest buildings, and Angela looked at Jane, her eyebrows raised.

'Down that way'. Jane pointed down the street, in the direction of the Opera Bastille, and Maura realised that Angela hadn't been sure of the way back to the hotel. 'Then the third street on your left'.

Jane took her mother by the shoulders, and turned her around so that she was facing the right way.

'Ok, Ma?'

Angela nodded.

'Call me if you get lost'.

'I'm a big girl, Janie!' And, after thanking Maura profusely, gathering her into another hug, and extracting a promise to come and visit them in Boston sometime, Angela set off back to the hotel.

Without actually talking about it, or saying anything at all, Maura and Jane turned to head in the opposite direction, down towards the Jardin des Tuileries, and Maura felt Jane's hand slip into hers. The now-familiar, delicious shiver ran down her spine at the contact, and she wrapped her fingers around Jane's as she steered them through the entrance to the gardens. She wasn't entirely sure where they were going, or where they would end up, but this would do for now...and, for a while, they just wandered slowly, enjoying being with each other.

It was Jane that finally broke the silence.

'Did Audrey Hepburn really go there?'

Maura laughed. 'Yes, she did. Why, did you think I'd made it up?'

'And Coco?'

Despite her earlier vow never to tell Jane about the tortoise's predilection for glazed strawberries, Maura found herself smirking. 'What,  _the_  Coco or my Coco?'

' _The_  Coco...Oh God', Jane groaned. 'Please tell me you haven't taken the turtle for hot chocolate'.

'Tortoise. Not turtle. And no, not exactly...but I may have taken Angelina's to her occasionally'.

'Ah, Maura!'

'What?' Maura tried to look defensive, but was also trying not to laugh at the look on Jane's face. 'She likes the strawberries off the top of the strawberry tarts! And I like the tart bit of the tarts. It's good for both of us'.

Jane shook her head in mock despair.

'If you say so'.

'So, what would you like to do?' Maura felt the butterflies in her stomach as she finally asked the question, and wasn't sure why she was suddenly so shaky. Maybe it was all the sugar from the chocolate and cream that was starting to hit. Maybe it was Jane's hand in hers that was giving her an adrenaline rush. Or maybe it was the other woman's close proximity, walking so close to Maura that their arms were brushing. 'We could go to one of the museums and then find somewhere to eat, or...'

'I was wondering if...'Jane paused, and Maura could sense her apprehension. 'If we could go back to your place. Maybe get something to eat there later, talk for a bit...and I should probably get to know Coco a bit better. I've never met a tart-eating tortoise before'.

And there, in amongst the nervous rambling, was her answer. Suddenly, Maura felt breathless. Her heart was hammering so loudly that she was sure Jane had to be able to hear it, and, despite the recent hot chocolate, her mouth felt so dry that she could barely speak.

'Jane, I...' She stopped walking, unable to continue putting one foot in front of the other, and not really caring that everything she was feeling was written all over her face - she never had been much good at hiding her emotions. Elation, anticipation, excitement. Fear. Worry that it wouldn't turn out to be what Jane wanted, or that she would be disappointed, or that if they did end up in bed together it would make things horribly awkward, or...

'You...?'

The tentative prompt snapped Maura out of her sudden paralysis, and, seeing that Jane now had that same look of vague panic that she had worn when she had first seen Angelina's, she gave herself a mental shake. Now was not the time for any kind of second guessing. She wanted this. More than anything, she wanted Jane. And Jane wanted her. That was all that mattered. And it didn't have to be anything more than a fun evening in with a film and Coco.

Smiling, she squeezed Jane's hand.

'I thought you would never ask'.


	8. Shipping Up To Boston

_'Would all passengers for flight AF 332 to Boston Logan International please make their way to gate number forty three. Boarding will commence in five minutes'._

Jane was already there.

Standing in the boarding queue behind Angela, her passport open at the correct page and her boarding pass clutched in her other hand, she swallowed hard as she heard the announcement. She didn't want to be at that boarding gate. She didn't want to be getting on that plane, and she didn't want to be going back to Boston.

She wanted to stay in Paris. More accurately, she wanted to stay with Maura.

Maura. Her mind had been full of Maura ever since she had left the other woman that morning. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, hadn't been able to stop going over and over their time together...especially their time together the night before. She remembered every word, every kiss, every touch. Maura's smile, putting her at ease and making her feel wanted. Maura's laughter when Jane had accused Coco the tortoise of watching, and putting her off as she kissed Maura in the kitchen. Maura's hand, so light and small in hers, leading her towards the sofa to watch a film, and the ill-disguised horror when Jane had jokingly chosen the sports channel instead. Maura's honey-blonde hair, so soft in her hands and against her face.

Maura's fingers, working their magic on her skin, slipping under her clothes and driving her slowly, deliciously crazy.

Maura's lips, gentle and sweet on her mouth, on her breasts, tracing that line down her stomach and between her legs.

Maura's name on her lips when she came, harder and more intensely than she had ever done before.

And then the feel of Maura...Jane would never, ever forget that. The way that Maura's body fit so perfectly with her own, the smooth, creamy skin that smelled faintly of sugar and lavender, and the nipples that hardened to dark pink buds under her darting tongue. The slick, wet heat that her fingers tentatively explored before Maura's gasps and moans of pleasure encouraged her to take it further. The way that Maura came apart underneath her, shaking and shuddering and burying her cries in Jane's shoulder. The way that they had fallen asleep hand in hand, and woken up with their fingers still entwined as the dawn broke through the shutters and the rest of the world began to come alive again.

'Janie?'

But the departure lounge was really not the best place to be thinking about all of that.

Blinking, and looking up, she realised that she had reached the front of the queue, and that the flight official was waiting for her paperwork. Her mother had already gone through and was waiting for her on the other side of the desk, her concerned look prompting Jane to hold out her passport and ticket. Still in a slight daze, she was waved through and moved, slowly, to join her mother in heading down the covered walkway to the plane.

She knew she had to go. But it was hard, horribly hard, when every cell in her body was screaming at her to stay.

After getting her act together enough to find their seats and safely stow her bag, along with her mother's, in the overhead locker, Jane settled down into her window seat and checked her watch. She couldn't help thinking about what Maura would be doing at that moment. One-fifteen. Most likely, she would still be in the kitchen - the chef's shirt had already been on when Jane had left at seven. Furiously blinking back the tears that had been threatening to fall, Maura had explained that she always spent Sundays in the kitchen, preparing for the first part of the week...and that, today, it would help take her mind off Jane leaving.

As she had kissed Maura's face gently - forehead, cheek, nose, lips - Jane had tasted a tiny drop of wet salt, and it was only through an iron effort that she had managed not to cry herself. She had saved that for later when, back at the hotel room, she had climbed into the shower and let the tears to stream down her face, mixing with the hot needles of water that ran down her body and soaked her hair. And now, as the plane began to taxi towards the runway and the safety demonstration began, she had to close her eyes and turn away, towards the window, so that no one else would see the wetness that had formed again on her eyelashes.

Her mother's hand on hers didn't register at first, but when it did, the comfort and warmth of the touch almost made those tears spill over. She turned round at the unexpected contact, and Angela smiled sadly.

'I might be old, but I'm not stupid'.

Jane blinked.

'Never said you were, Ma'.

She supposed that she shouldn't really have been surprised. She also knew that she shouldn't really be embarrassed, or ashamed to have been caught with her emotions on such naked display. But she couldn't help it.

'She's a lovely girl'.

Jane swallowed. 'Yeah, but...Ma...'

'I wasn't born yesterday, Janie. I saw the way you were looking at each other'.

Jane had no idea what to say to that. She could hardly deny it, even if she had wanted to, and besides, it was almost a relief not to have to broach the subject herself. She would rather not have had the conversation on a plane with a seven hour flight ahead of her...but still. She could always pretend to sleep.

But she wasn't sure how, exactly, to explain to her mother what she was feeling without it sounding a bit melodramatic - although Angela, she knew, wouldn't mind that. She wasn't sure how to say that even after just a couple of days, she somehow knew that Maura was special. That this wouldn't have happened with just any woman.

That she had never felt this way about anyone.

Angela waited patiently.

'Ma, I...' She paused. 'I'm not...'

Oh, God. She really was hopeless at this. And Angela's patience evidently had its limits.

'You're attracted to her...well, that's okay. And you didn't come back to the hotel last night. Did you sleep together?'

'Ma!' Jane's eyes widened in shock, and she furtively looked around to see if anyone sitting near them had heard. 'Do you have to? Here?'

But then she saw her mother's expression, and realised that she didn't really have a choice. 'Can you at least keep your voice down?'

There was a pause before Angela spoke again, her voice quieter this time.

'So?'

Jane took a deep breath. There was nowhere to run to, since the seatbelt sign was flashing and the toilets were closed for takeoff. And she knew her mother well enough to realise that she wouldn't be able to lie her way out of it.

'Yes. Happy?'

Angela nodded slowly, thoughtfully, her hand still covering her daughter's.

'And you really like her?'

'Yes. Can we please...?'

'You know, I knew I was in love with your father within a week of meeting him'.

Jane's eyes widened, and she spluttered in disbelief. Had her mother really just said that?

'Ma...not really the best example'.

'Okay, maybe not, but...'

'And no one's talking about...that, just...it's all new'.

'New...as in, because she's a woman?'

Jane sighed, and closed her eyes - partly because of the headache that was starting to form behind her right temple, and partly so that she wouldn't have to see her mother's face when she answered her question.

'No'. She forced the admission out through clenched teeth. 'It's just never got this far before'.

She had no intention of elaborating any further. She wasn't going to tell her mother about all the times that she had felt the buzz of attraction towards another woman but hadn't had the guts to do anything about it. And she certainly wasn't going to say that part of the reason for her reticence had been fear of the reaction from her colleagues and family - including her mother.

'Well, then, it's about time'.

Jane's eyes popped open.

'What?'

'And if she makes you happy, then...'

Angela shrugged, and Jane felt her squeeze her hand. She couldn't think of a reply to that. And, as the plane turned on to the runway and began gathering speed, she leaned back in her seat and turned back to the window. Maybe it didn't actually need an answer.

_If she makes you happy..._

Jane closed her eyes again, as the nose of the aircraft tilted into the sky and the ground fell away. She didn't want to see Paris getting smaller and smaller beneath them.

She didn't want to see Maura getting further and further away.

Maura did make her happy. There was no doubt about that.

_It's about time..._

Peeking through her eyelashes, she caught a glimpse of the Seine, glistening silver as it curved like a ribbon through the city that now looked like a child's play set. Somewhere down there was Maura...and Jane was missing her already.

Maybe, she thought, her mother was right.


	9. Sugar Plums and Caramel

_So, long-distance...hard to manage in real life, even harder to write about. In order to keep the Parisian / pâtisserie base for this story, the next few chapters are written from Maura's point of view, in Paris. But don't worry, Jane isn't entirely absent from things :)._

_This chapter takes place two weeks after Jane has left Paris._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Five hours after beginning work, Maura stood back and heaved a sigh of satisfied, contented relief. After all her worrying, after all the stressing, after not being able to sleep and staying up for the half the night thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong...It was finished. It was finished on time. And, most importantly of all, it looked - even if she did say so herself - absolutely stunning.

Croquembouche.

A glistening tower of choux pastry buns, formed into a perfect cone and filled with the lightest, smoothest crème pâtissière that had been delicately flavoured with orange. Thin strands of spun sugar, hardened into caramel, were draped over the cone like fine netting, effectively holding it together, while small pralines - whole almonds coated in caramelised sugar - nestled in amongst the pastry rounds alongside tiny pink butterflies made out of icing. For the final flourish, little spoonfuls of dried fruit had been coated in the same caramelised sugar to form sugar plums, before being artfully arranged around the bottom and on the top of the pyramid.

As an alternative to a traditional wedding cake, Maura thought, it couldn't get much better.

Maura knew it was silly, but she always felt ridiculously proud of herself whenever she made a croquembouche, despite the fact that she had, by now, lost count of the precise number that she had done. Technically, a croquembouche was tricky, and it also required artistic skill - especially for some of the more flamboyant styles that she had been asked to make in the past. Once made, it had a shelf-life of approximately twenty-four hours before it started to slowly sink in on itself, which meant that it needed to be done on the day - a time constraint which only added to the other pressures. And she always felt a little twinge of self-satisfaction at the fact that she was good enough to pull it off.

But what really got her pride going, every single time, was managing to achieve the desired result without giving herself stab wounds or third degree sugar burns. Molten caramel was bad enough, but when it hardened into shards it was lethal.

And now, having completed the pyramid without mishap - and without it collapsing, which was always another major worry - she had precisely one hour to get it to Josie and Laurent's reception venue before she could finally relax. Grabbing her camera, she took a few quick photos before calling Hélène to help her manoeuvre the pyramid into the specially-made box, and then through to the small pâtisserie van that she had bought and kept solely for occasions such as these. Fortunately, she didn't have far to go. And although the couple had chosen to have a Friday wedding, the timings meant that Maura would not have to battle through the rush hour in order to get there - a prospect that always filled her with dread. She hated driving through Paris traffic at the best of times, and knowing that she had such a fragile cargo only made her fret even more. This time, though, she had something to take her mind off it.

Instead of thinking about all the disasters that could befall her in between the pâtisserie and the reception venue, she thought about Jane.

Jane had been gone from Paris for two weeks, and Maura had missed her every minute of every day. By her reckoning, that was over twenty thousand minutes, and counting...and it was far too long when she and Jane had had such precious little time together. But, after the initial heartache of Jane leaving, she found that she had never been happier and, in a strange kind of way, the distance had only intensified the heady buzz of excitement that went with the territory of a new affair. Knowing that she couldn't just meet Jane whenever she wanted made the time that they had enjoyed seem somehow even more special. And knowing that she couldn't satisfy her sudden craving for the other woman in the way that she wanted to only heightened the intense physical reaction of her body whenever she thought about it. Distance gave everything an extra edge that she hadn't been expecting and, although she knew it would eventually fade, for the moment she was actually quite enjoying it.

She felt alive, on a never-ending high as she went through the motions of everyday life, finding that even the most mundane tasks became more pleasurable with Jane in the background. Her cell phone had become her constant companion when she was out and about, delivering as it did the new messages that meant Jane was thinking about her too, and she had quickly become addicted to the butterflies that took off in her tummy and the happy warmth that spread through her whenever she saw Jane's name on the screen. When she checked her watch, it was not only to see what the time was in Paris but also to calculate what time it would be in Boston, so that she could wonder what Jane might be doing at that particular moment, where she might be and who she might be with. She also found herself choosing her clothes with even more care than usual, despite the fact that Skype really didn't do most of them justice, and, one particularly quiet Wednesday, she had taken an impromptu afternoon off from the pâtisserie and gone shopping for new underwear. And even though she knew that Jane wouldn't be there to get the full effect, it had still given her a little thrill.

As she carefully pulled the van out into the street that ran along the back of the pâtisserie, she chuckled to herself as she remembered the video call she had made late that Wednesday night - whilst wearing a couple of the new purchases and not a lot else.

_'Wow'. Jane raised her eyebrows, and pushed away the slice of pizza she was eating. 'I'm kinda glad Frankie didn't come over to watch baseball now'._

_'Do you like them?' Maura turned to the side, holding her silk robe open so that Jane could see the floral lace detail on the dark grey panties. 'Chantelle Paris'._

_Jane's appreciative expression went blank for a moment._

_'The designer', Maura explained. 'A bit of an expensive one, but I wanted to treat myself'._ And you _, she thought - but she didn't add that bit._

_She saw Jane smirk. 'Did it burn a hole in your wallet?'_

_Maura shrugged. 'A hundred and seventy, or thereabouts'._

_'Whaa-at? Maura!' Jane almost choked on a mouthful of beer. 'That's not a hole. That's a smouldering crater'._

_But Maura couldn't help noticing, slightly smugly, how Jane's eyes had darkened, and how, even through the laptop screen, the hint of desire on her face was plain to see._

_'I think it was worth it, though', she purred. 'Would you like to see the others?'_

_Jane visibly swallowed, and put down the beer bottle._

_'There's others?'_

A hooting horn brought Maura back to the present, and her heart thudded as a taxi pulled out in front of her with inches to spare. Perhaps thinking about Jane while she was driving was not such a good idea after all. Since she had made such a good job of the croquembouche, the last thing she wanted was for it to be flattened in a road accident and, somewhat reluctantly, she forced her full attention onto her driving.

She could save thoughts of Jane for the drive back.

An hour later, safely delivered of the croquembouche and back at the pâtisserie, Maura was relieved to find that Hélène had already locked up for lunch and that she had a couple of hours to herself. Two thirty in Paris meant eight thirty in Boston, and Jane would probably already be at work. Work meant no Skype, but it did mean email. And, with a smile spreading across her face, Maura went upstairs to her apartment, kicked off her shoes and logged onto her laptop.

She ignored the baleful look that Coco gave her - the tortoise had quickly cottoned onto the fact that there was a connection between Jane, the laptop, and the sudden lack of strawberries in the refrigerator - and, on a whim, decided to send Jane one of the photos of the croquembouche. After all, she had woken Jane up with a phone call at one in the morning, Boston time, in a panic over whether she had made enough crème pâtissière the day before to fill all two hundred and fifty buns. Maura thought that her girlfriend at least deserved to know that it had all worked out okay in the end.

Slipping her memory card into the slot, she quickly downloaded the photos and opened her email account.

 

From _: Maura Isles_

To _: Jane Rizzoli_

Subject _: Look what I made!_

_Doesn't it look good? And it wouldn't have worked nearly as well without your calming influence and creative input this morning - although I'm still not sure that filling the buns with marshmallow fluff instead of crème pâtissière would have worked particularly well, but anyway. It didn't come to that :)._

_How's your morning going?_

Trying to take no notice of the shaky, slightly delirious feeling that was coming over her (it was just an email, for heaven's sake!), she stood up and went to make herself a coffee, but, two minutes into the percolating time, the ping of an incoming email pulled her straight back to the table.

 

From:  _Jane Rizzoli_

To:  _Maura Isles_

Re:  _Look what I made!_

_So that's the reason I'm on my third coffee already...wow. Still not sure it was worth losing my beauty sleep over, but it does look good. What are those things around the bottom that look like little bird's nests? I'm guessing that's not what they are..._

_Quiet morning. No one murdered yet._

 

From:  _Maura Isles_

To:  _Jane Rizzoli_

Re:  _Look what I made!_

_Sugar plums. Dried fruit coated in caramelised sugar. Not nests, or droppings, or anything else..._

 

From:  _Jane Rizzoli_

To:  _Maura Isles_

Re:  _Look what I made!_

_Ah. Ok. Sugar plums...do they turn into fairies and dance ballet?_

_Sounds nice. And looks great. And I'm very proud of you._

_But since I'm admiring your creation, how about returning the compliment and checking out my breakfast? A masterpiece of flavour and texture, handmade lovingly by Ma Rizzoli...who says hi, by the way...again..._

 

Maura shook her head, amused and exasperated and happy all at once. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy...she found herself wondering whether Jane had seen the Nutcracker ballet, and whether, if she was able to return to Paris, they might be able to go at Christmas.

And Jane was proud of her. She was proud of Maura for being who she was, and doing what she did, and that meant more to Maura than anything. She didn't think that she had ever felt that, unconditionally, from anyone before, and she spent a few minutes basking in the warm glow that it gave her...even though it was just words written on a screen.

It was only when the coffee started bubbling that Maura noticed a new attachment that had come through with Jane's email. A masterpiece of flavour and texture? Intrigued, she got up to switch off the percolator and then opened the file.

 

From:  _Maura Isles_

To:  _Jane Rizzoli_

Subject:  _Is that what I think it is?_

_A peanut butter and fluff sandwich? Seriously? That is wrong on so many levels - and not just the nutritional one_.

 

From:  _Jane Rizzoli_

To:  _Maura Isles_

Re:  _Is that what I think it is?_

_Oh yeah. Perhaps a little too much peanut butter, not quite enough fluff, and not quite as spectacular as your thingy...but still. The perfect morning choice for a tired detective who's missing her girlfriend._

 

And so it went on. It always took Maura by surprise just how easily she and Jane could communicate. They could have carried on emailing for hours, but Jane was called away to a meeting and Maura, although she wouldn't have admitted it to Jane, was fairly exhausted herself. She didn't think she would be able to sleep, but an hour or so with her book before opening up again later sounded pretty good. And after attempting, and failing, to interest Coco in some fresh kale leaves - ' _No, I know it's not the same as strawberries, but you can't sulk forever_ ' - she sighed with relief as she stretched out on the sofa. She found, however, that she couldn't concentrate on her book. Her mind kept wandering, and even the colourful life of Elsa Schiaparelli couldn't hold her attention for very long.

It seemed that only her work and Jane could do that now.

Giving up and putting the biography down, she snuggled into the cushions and closed her eyes. She told herself that it was just for a minute, and that she would get up shortly and spend some time with Coco instead. But, despite her earlier conviction that she wouldn't be able to sleep, she found herself slowly drifting down into a sweet dreamworld of sugar plums, marshmallow fluff, and a tall, dark-haired, caramel-eating version of the Nutcracker that turned out to be Jane.


	10. Honey and Lavender

_This is set about four weeks after the last chapter, and is still from Maura's POV._

* * *

'Oui, c'est ça'. Maura peered over Helene's shoulder, and smiled encouragingly before handing her a sharp knife. 'En rectangles'.

Hélène carefully took the knife and, copying what she had seen Maura do so many times before, lightly marked out even notches on the side of the large, square tray of pastry to indicate where she would cut. She had first expressed an interest in learning the craft of pâtisserie a couple of months ago, and Maura had been delighted that the young woman, who had just left school last year, was so enthusiastic. It had just been too busy to organise anything in the way of teaching, but, now that things had quietened down a bit, Maura had decided to make it a priority. And so she had asked if Helene would come in on a Thursday, not one of her normal days, in order to help make some of the pastries for the latter part of the week. Maura was keeping it simple to start with. Individual almond and raspberry tarts. A chocolate and coffee mousse cake. A batch of macarons. Basics, but essentials in the pâtisserie. And the more of those basics that Hélène could eventually take off her hands, the easier life would be.

It might also mean that, finally, she could start taking some more time off.

Maura had never thought that the pâtisserie would become an imposition. It was not just her work. It was her passion. It was - and she felt a little pathetic admitting to this - her life. She had poured everything into it, heart and soul, and had been rewarded with a successful business that, up until now, she had found totally fulfilling. She had never really felt the need for anything else...and, she thought wryly, that was maybe just as well, since living above the shop made it very difficult to leave work at the bottom of the stairs even if she had wanted to. But now, she was starting to feel torn. She was starting to feel like she wanted some time that didn't involve making pastries, selling pastries, or tending to the administration side of running a pastry business.

She had something - or rather, someone - else in her life now that she wanted to start making a lot more room for.

That someone, of course, was Jane, and the distance had not dampened Maura's desire to spend as much time with her as she possibly could. They already talked a lot online and on the phone, and it always made her incredibly happy to hear Jane's voice...despite the one horrendous phone bill that she had already had, and the second one that she was expecting any day now. But, however long they had to talk, it was never long enough, and the joyful buzz was beginning to be tinged with a sadness, a kind of despondency as it finally sunk in that Jane really was four thousand miles and an ocean away.

Maura had known that the initial, constant euphoria would wear off. She had known that it couldn't last forever. But what she hadn't been prepared for was the sudden, gripping sensation of pure loneliness that had struck her one night as she had climbed into bed. She had just signed off a Skype call, and, without Jane's throaty voice filling the void, her apartment had seemed empty. It had always been her haven, but then it had felt bare and cold. Suddenly, she had missed Jane so badly that it was like a physical pain, and for the first time since the day Jane had left Paris, she had felt like crying.

The loneliness of that night had not really gone away. Every time she sent an email, or a text message, or even a good old-fashioned postcard, she found herself wishing that people could travel as easily and as quickly as words, because words on their own were no longer enough. She wanted Jane. She wanted Jane so badly that she had even considered leaving the pâtisserie for a couple of weeks and taking her first vacation since opening...although, realistically, she knew that it would be a while before she would be able to get her head around doing that. She had never left the pâtisserie before, not even for a weekend.

And she didn't think that she could wait that long.

Maura hadn't needed to explain all of that to Jane. Somehow, Jane had understood - possibly, she thought, because Jane didn't want to wait either. So when her girlfriend had tentatively mentioned the fact that she still had some leave remaining that needed to be taken before the end of the year, otherwise it would be lost...Maura hadn't even needed to think about it. The idea of Jane returning to Paris, even just for a short while, had made her almost giddy with happiness, and she knew that, somehow, they would make it happen.

She just didn't want to be completely tied to the pâtisserie when it did. And so, if Hélène wanted to learn anyway, it was a win-win situation.

'Maura?'

Her reverie was broken by Hélène, who had finished slicing the pastry into perfect rectangles and was waiting for the next instruction. Maura couldn't help smiling as she looked at the tray. Hélène had done a good job - but Maura always smiled when she made millefeuilles. They were just one of those things that never failed to make her happy, and she often found herself making them when she felt a bit down.

She had made seven batches in the last two weeks.

Maura even loved the name. Millefeuilles. Literally, a thousand leaves - or, in this case, seven hundred and twenty nine leaves of handmade, flaky, buttery puff pastry that had just been sandwiched together, not with the traditional crème pâtissière, but with a mixture of whipped cream, mascarpone, sugar and lavender to create a delicate, summery delight that would melt in the mouth. Simply decorated with a dusting of icing sugar, they looked almost too good to eat.

Almost.

'Wow. Très bien'. Maura spoke through a mouthful of lavender cream, and Hélène smiled shyly. When it came to pastries, a compliment from Maura was not something to be taken lightly...and the lavender had, after all, been Hélène's suggestion. It could, Maura thought, even trump the classic praline filling as her favourite.

The pastry had done its work so well that it was only after she had helped Hélène take the tray through to the shop, ready for the afternoon opening, that Maura checked her cell phone and saw that she had a message. Opening it, another, more intimate smile spread across her face, and she felt a warm feeling begin to grow in her tummy as she read it.

_Morning off - you around? J x_

It was almost four thirty, and she and Hélène had been in the kitchen since eight that morning. All the pastries were finished. Hélène was gathering her bag and her jacket, ready to go home, and Amélie was already there to open the shop again. Maura would normally have worked the shop with Amélie, or tinkered on in the kitchen, but with the prospect of an hour or so with Jane...

_Sure. Just finishing up some lavender pastries. Be right there._

No contest.

After saying goodbye to Hélène, Maura left Amélie to it with instructions to call her if she needed anything, and all but ran up the stairs to her apartment. Heading to the refrigerator, she grabbed a couple of strawberries for Coco - she had been shamed into finally making the effort to buy some by the blank refusal of the tortoise to eat anything else - and settled down on the floor next to her pet with the laptop perched on the coffee table.

Jane was already there.

'Lavender pastries?'

Maura nodded happily. She could see that Jane was sitting at her kitchen table, coffee in hand and an old Boston PD sweatshirt covering her slender frame. She could see the piles of laundry through the open bedroom door, and the washing up still sat in the sink, and a couple of shopping bags sat on the floor that were yet to be unpacked. Jane's apartment looked like it always did - barely-controlled, very untidy chaos - but Maura loved it. Once again, she had that overwhelming feeling that she always got when talking to Jane, that everything was now okay.

She countered with a question of her own.

'How did you get a morning off? I thought you were in the middle of something'.

Jane never spoke much about the actual cases that she worked on. She did, however, talk a lot about her colleagues, and Maura now felt as if Barry Frost and Vince Korsak were friends, despite the fact that she had never actually met or talked to them. She had often wondered whether they knew about her...but, not wanting to pressure Jane, she had never asked.

'Closed it last night'. Jane smiled in satisfaction. 'But we didn't finish up til gone midnight, so Cavanagh gave us the morning off'. She screwed up her face in a thoughtful grimace. 'He's never done that before, and he's been in a good mood for days. Korsak thinks he's getting some'.

Maura raised her eyebrows, about to ask more questions, but Jane shook her head as she swallowed a mouthful of coffee.

'But since I'd rather not talk about my boss having sex, can we move back to the pastries please?'

Maura giggled, and absent-mindedly tickled Coco's shell as she complied.

'Lavender millefeuilles'.

'Like vanilla slices?'

'Umm-hmm, except not vanilla. Helene suggested trying a cream-and-mascarpone combination with lavender food essence, and it worked really well. I think she's going to be good'.

'She has a good teacher'.

Maura blushed slightly. She always did when Jane complimented her.

'She has a good instinct anyway'. She paused to remember the light, elegant flavour of the pastries. 'And they tasted wonderful. It's started me thinking about new flavours now. I've usually just done praline and vanilla, but I think maybe honey would be nice as well'.

'Honey?'

'Hmm, a couple of tablespoons mixed in with the cream could work. I think I'd use flower honey, rather than the stronger mountain honey, to give it a more subtle flavour...What do you think?'

Jane shrugged, and smiled.

'Sure, give it a go. I like honey'.

Maura smiled to herself as she shifted to a more comfortable position. Jane always humoured her when she started chatting away about the pâtisserie, and Maura always appreciated it...even though she knew that Jane didn't understand what she was talking about half the time. But that didn't matter to her, and she guessed that it didn't to Jane, either.

When she returned her attention to the laptop screen, she saw that Jane was watching her intently, a small smile playing about her lips. Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, Maura ran her fingers over her mouth and chin, checking for crumbs from the millefeuille that she had eaten earlier, and, finding none, raised her eyebrows at Jane.

'What?'

'You. You look beautiful'.

Maura looked down at herself. She still had on her chef's shirt, and the baggy Citizen jeans that she often wore to work in just because they were comfortable. She had at least kicked her sneakers off at the apartment door...but still. She wasn't exactly looking at her best. With two minutes' notice, there hadn't been an awful lot she could do.

'Really'. Jane had seen her disbelieving look.

'I still have this shirt on. I should at least go and change out of that...' She looked up at Jane with a twinkle in her eye. 'Then I might believe you'.

'Go ahead'.

Jane's voice was suddenly even huskier than usual, and Maura paused, her heart beating a little faster and the twinkle fading as her eyes questioned the dark haired woman who was sitting on the other side of the world.

Jane looked straight back at her. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet.

'I miss you, Maura. Really miss you'.

'I miss you too'. Maura heard the slight crack in her voice, but at that moment, she didn't really care. She watched as Jane took a breath as if to say something else, but nothing came out, and after a moment Maura gave her a gentle prompt. 'What?'

'I was...' Jane paused, and then shook her head again before taking a deep breath, looking almost embarrassed. 'I was going to say...honey. And lavender. Those smells always remind me of you now'. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. 'It's what you tasted like'.

Maura felt her breath catch in her throat, and had to swallow a gasp as a sudden, hard throbbing sensation went straight down through her stomach. She had thought about that night so many times. She had lain in bed and remembered the feel of Jane's lips on her, of Jane's fingers inside her, and had quickly discovered that what she could do barely even took the edge off. Only Jane could do that now...and Jane wasn't there.

They had never talked about the night that they had spent together. Sometimes, Maura had even wondered whether Jane even thought about it at all in the same way that she did, but she had never brought the subject up. A part of her had selfishly wanted to keep those memories to herself, scared that they would be somehow tarnished if Jane's version of that night didn't match her own. She had never allowed herself to believe that Jane might have been doing the same thing. And that same part of her hadn't even dared to hope that Jane, too, might have spent nights lying awake, thinking about Maura and remembering the taste of lavender and honey.

Until now.

'This is way harder than I thought it would be. It was ok to start with, but...'

Maura blinked at the raw emotion in Jane's voice that so completely mirrored her own feelings. It was hard. The whole thing was horribly hard. And not being able to touch each other, however innocently, was probably hardest of all.

Slowly, Maura stood up, tilting the laptop screen back as she did so. She didn't think too much about what she was about to do - she couldn't, otherwise she wouldn't do it. She had wondered about it before, fantasised about it, and then dismissed it, thinking that she would be far too self-conscious, and that actually it might just feel kind of weird. And, she had thought, it probably wouldn't help anyway. She still wouldn't have Jane's warm touch on her skin, or Jane's lips on her body, and being able to see Jane would probably just leave her even more frustrated than usual. And so showing off her new underwear had been as far as she had gone.

But now, all she could think about was that, somehow, she wanted Jane. Jane wanted her. And since they couldn't be together...well, maybe it was time to try something else. Something that, in a funny kind of way, felt like it would be even more intimate than what they had already shared.

She saw Jane's eyes widen as she slipped out of her shirt to reveal nothing but a simple blue bra underneath. She saw Jane's breathing get slightly faster, saw the dark irises turn to charcoal as the jeans went the same way as the shirt. If Jane didn't want to do this, she would stop. But, somehow, she didn't think that would be a problem.

'Maura?'

'Yes?'

'How is, uh...how is this going to work, exactly?'

Maura took a deep breath, and shook her head slowly.

'I have no idea. And if you don't want to, it's fine, just...'

'No, I want to'. Jane looked as if she was about to laugh, or cry, or both, and Maura watched as she ran a hand over her face. 'God, Maura, I want you more than I've ever wanted anything, but I just don't know...are you sure?'

In a way, it was comforting to know that Jane was just as nervous and hesitant as she was. But Maura could also tell that Jane, too, had thought about it before, and that was what gave her the courage to nod.

'Yes'. It was whispered, but it was enough, and Jane nodded, swallowing hard.

'Then...could you go through to your bedroom? Please? That tortoise is watching me again'.


	11. Cinnamon and Orange

_For those of you hoping for a straight continuation of the last chapter - apologies, you'll have to use your imaginations ;). Again, this takes place four weeks later. And I promise we are going somewhere here. There's three more chapters left to this story - including this one - so things will start happening soon for Maura & Jane. For now, though, relax and enjoy!_

* * *

For what seemed like the hundredth time that morning, Maura checked her watch before smiling to herself and tucking her wrist back into the sleeve of her jacket. It was almost eleven on a Sunday morning, and she had that same feeling as when she had taken Jane and Angela cycling...the feeling of being a teenager bunking off from school. At least, she assumed that was the best analogy. Never in her life had she pulled a sickie, from work or from school, unless she actually was too sick to get out of bed.

And yet here she was, perfectly well and getting off the Métro on the other side of the river, instead of piping choux pastry for éclairs or mixing chocolate buttercream for macarons. It felt exciting, slightly illicit, but also kind of worrying and, even though she had been looking forward to it for days and wouldn't have changed it for anything, she still couldn't help feeling a little concerned, a little uneasy, as if something might not be quite right. Even though she did not open the pâtisserie itself on a Sunday, she always worked in the kitchen to prepare for the first part of the week, and she had always done that by herself. It meant that she never had a Sunday off, but it also meant that she knew everything was done that needed to be done - and that it was done to her high standards. But Hélène had been improving dramatically in the few weeks that she had been working in the kitchen with Maura. So much so that Maura had to admit that her teaching skills couldn't take all of the credit. Hélène had a real talent. And, with nothing particularly complicated or big to make for the coming week, Maura had felt confident enough to take most of the day off and leave her to it. Confident...until she stepped off the Métro in the middle of the Marais.

But, as Maura felt the sunlight on her face, felt the slight chill in the breeze that signified the change from summer to autumn and heard the faint rustle of the leaves on the trees that lined the street, she felt some of the worry melt away. Hélène was more than capable. She would call Maura if she needed anything. And Maura had forgotten how different the city felt on a Sunday. It was almost as if it relaxed, as if it was feeling a bit lazy at the end of the week even though the majority of shops and cafes were open as normal. Everything went at a more leisurely pace, including the people around her. Some were striding out along the pavement as if they had somewhere to be, but most were wandering, not exactly aimlessly, but more slowly, taking the opportunity to browse and explore. And Maura decided that, today, she was going to do exactly the same thing. She had come to a little neighbourhood that was one of her favourites, but that she hadn't visited for over a year simply because she hadn't had the time. It also happened to be the home of her all-time favourite boutique, that she also hadn't visited in far too long...but she egged herself on with the thought that it was her first Sunday off for a long time. She deserved to celebrate it, and Maura always celebrated in style.

After a ten minute walk, she found herself on rue Charlot, a narrow, characterful street, full of tiny shops where the person behind the cash register was most probably the designer and maker of the crafts as well, and La Boutique Extraordinaire, Maura's destination, was no exception. It sold the most beautiful, exquisite clothes and accessories, purely for women, that would never be found anywhere else and, in keeping with its slightly quirky image, it often held small exhibitions of unusual clothes by other local designers. As Maura pushed open the door, she paused, smiling to herself. It was just as she remembered. And she knew, from previous experience, that she could spend hours in there just browsing and admiring the craftsmanship, even if there wasn't anything that she really wanted to buy. Today, when she actually had the time to indulge herself, she intended to make the most of it.

Two hours later, the boutique was about to close for lunch, and Maura still couldn't make up her mind. She had wanted a new jumper for the autumn, but was having trouble deciding, out of the two that she was clutching in her hand, which one she preferred. The merino v-neck that was the most gorgeous shade of pinky-orange ('tea rose', according to the label), and that hugged her figure and finished just above her hips, showing off her waist? Or the spicy brown cashmere cowl neck, that was slightly longer than she would normally have worn, but that looked fantastic with skinny jeans? She loved them both. She wanted them both and, she thought, she would probably wear them both a lot, since she felt the cold badly when this time of year came around. And she wouldn't have another chance to get them. The only tiny snag was the price labels that, so far, she had studiously avoided looking at, but that she knew would be into three figures.

What the hell.

Closing her ears to the total, told to her by the smiling shop assistant, Maura gritted her teeth, handed over her credit card and got them both.

Leaving the boutique, bag in hand, Maura felt ridiculously pleased with herself. She also felt a little bit delirious at the thought of how much she had just spent on two jumpers and, deciding that what she needed to recover was a glass of wine and something to eat, began to walk in the direction of a cafe that she remembered served wonderful omelettes. Once there, and settled at a table just inside the door, she reached into her bag to check her cell phone.

The only thing that would make a perfect day even more perfect would be Jane.

Despite the distance, they had slowly but surely settled into their own version of the happy, slightly predictable routine that most couples ended up in as they got used to each other. Maura now felt more comfortable, more at ease with herself and more confident with Jane than she had done to start with and, although she was used to getting text messages and emails at certain times of the day - or night, since Jane still sometimes ignored the time difference - it no longer preyed on her mind if, like today, they didn't come. She knew now that Jane was honest and forthright enough to tell her if she had done or said something wrong, and that, if the other woman was distracted for a couple of days, it usually just meant that she was working a particularly hard case. Maura still got the same butterflies in her stomach, still felt the pleasurable anticipation and the excited contentment whenever she spoke to Jane, and was always disappointed if they didn't manage to talk. But it no longer had the power to make or break her day. And, although she still felt the same loneliness, she was learning to push it to the back of her mind and concentrate on other things, not allowing it to take her over as it had begun to do before. In a way, she was grateful for the shift. The intense highs and lows in the few weeks immediately following Jane's departure from Paris had been exhilarating, but they had also been exhausting, and Maura didn't think that she could have kept that up for much longer.

Besides, being more relaxed and secure with her girlfriend had other benefits, as well. Although she was still convinced that Skype showed up every lump and bump around her hips - lumps and bumps that Jane insisted were not there, but that Maura thought had to be, considering the number of pastries that she ate - Maura was no longer shy about sharing her most intimate moments with Jane. There was no longer any of the slight awkwardness that there had been the first time, and, although it still wasn't as regular an occurrence as they would both have liked, it was still immensely pleasurable, far more so than either of them had ever anticipated.

And, of course, there was always Jane's trip back to Paris - which they had already started planning for the following month.

That thought left a broad smile on her face all the way through her meal...although the food and wine probably would have done that anyway. Her memory of the cafe actually hadn't done it justice, and the plain herb omelette was one of the lightest and fluffiest that she had ever eaten. Alongside a fresh garden salad, it was just about perfect.

But not quite.

As she collected the boutique bag and her purse and paid the bill, she had a sudden craving for something sweet. That was nothing new, but she didn't really want a pastry. Elegant and dainty wouldn't hit the spot this time, and she knew of only one place to get exactly what she was after.

A big, soft, chewy cookie.

Maura had to admit that cookies were not something that the French did particularly well. At least, not in her experience. After she had returned to Paris from Boston, she had spent days trawling the bakeries for a real American-style cookie, but had been disappointed every time. They were always too small, or too crisp, or too bland. Even the ones that she made herself didn't taste quite the same, and in the end she had almost given up. There were, after all, plenty of exquisite delights in Paris without bothering herself too much about cookies. Until, that is, she had discovered Laura Todd in Les Halles. It had been like an epiphany, and she hadn't realised until the moment that she first bit into one just how much she had missed them.

Forty minutes later, she stood in the queue and patiently waited her turn whilst deciding which flavour to get. Chocolate and hazelnut? White chocolate and coconut? Dark chocolate and green tea? Her indecisiveness from the boutique seemed to have caught up with her again, and, by the time she had reached the front of the line, she had given up trying to pick just one.

She was meant to be treating herself, after all.

Maura ate the milk chocolate and hazelnut one while she walked slowly back down towards the river. She intended on saving the others, but the white chocolate and cherry was too tempting, and she broke off half to eat as she crossed the Pont Neuf. The other half, which had most of the cherries in, went in the Jardin de Luxembourg, and by the time she got back to the pâtisserie there was only one left. Tucking the paper bag safely into her purse, she decided that she really would save this one until later, and, crossing her fingers that everything had been fine in her absence, made her way through to the kitchen.

She soon realised that she needn't have worried at all. After spending an hour or so with Hélène, helping her to finish off the last batch of fraisiers and checking on the caramelised almond tarts that the assistant hadn't been too sure of, Maura was pleasantly surprised at just how well things had gone. Even the almond tarts were fine, although Maura could see that, next time, they would need a touch more sugar in the pastry and thirty to forty seconds less time in the oven. For a first day on her own, though, Hélène had done a great job, and Maura didn't hesitate to tell her so - although she tried not to sound too surprised, or too relieved. She didn't want Hélène to know how nervous she had been that morning before she had forced it to the back of her mind and concentrated on enjoying herself.

Thinking of enjoying herself made her think about the jumpers, and then the cookies. And thinking about the cookies brought Jane to the forefront of her mind again. Instinctively, she checked her watch. It would be just after midday across the Atlantic, and she thought that, if Jane wasn't working, she would probably be over at Angela's with her brothers for Sunday lunch...but it was still worth a try. If she wasn't at home, then Maura had a new book that she planned to take into a deep, hot, bubble bath. She grinned to herself as she thought of sending Jane a text from said bath, letting her know exactly what she was missing, and she was almost disappointed when her plan B was not needed.

Almost.

Jane's face filled the screen almost as soon as Maura sent the request, and all thoughts of lavender-scented oils and masses of bubbles were forgotten as Maura settled down on her bed, legs crossed underneath her and her bags lying next to her. Jane in person was certainly better than a few words on a tiny screen.

Jane raised her eyebrows in a quizzical smile.

'You look happy', she observed. Maura just nodded, her own smile spreading across her face. She had told Jane of her plans to take a Sunday off, but she hadn't mentioned how nervous she had been about it. Jane's expression cleared slightly as she saw the boutique bag.

'You've been shopping'.

'Well done, Detective'. Maura laughed as she pulled the bag towards her, and Jane smirked.

'Would have worked it out without the bag. You always have that kind of satisfied glow when you've been shopping'.

Maura looked innocently over at the screen. 'The same kind of one that you said I get after we've...'

'Yeah, that one'. Jane blushed furiously, and Maura grinned as she returned her attention to undoing the safety pins that held the price labels onto the jumpers. She loved teasing Jane. She loved flirting with Jane even more. In fact, she couldn't think of anything that she didn't love doing with Jane. She suspected that it would be even better when they were actually together...and the sooner Jane was able to come back to Paris to test that theory out, the better.

'So your first Sunday off - ever - and you went shopping?'

Jane looked slightly disbelieving, and Maura shook her head as she held up the cowl-neck jumper.

'Not just shopping. I went over to the Marais - remember, we cycled through part of it? There's a wonderful little neighbourhood on the other side...well, just a street, really, but it has some beautiful boutiques and craft shops. I spent the morning there. A lot of the places are more like small galleries than shops, you can browse for hours'.

Jane's face softened into an indulgent smile, and Maura realised that she had only been returning the teasing.

'I'm just happy you relaxed and enjoyed it. I thought you might back out at the last minute and stay with Hélène instead'.

Jane really did know her well.

'I thought about it', Maura confessed, folding the brown jumper carefully and turning her attention to the v-neck tea rose one. 'But she was fine. More than fine, actually. I think I'll have to watch it, or she'll be the competition'. Her smile belied the fact that she wasn't really joking, but Jane shook her head.

'She'll never make those violet things like you do'.

Maura laughed. Jane had always maintained that the violet macarons that Maura had asked her to try were her favourite. And, even though Maura had reminded her of the chocoframboise and the fraisier and the religieuses, she was still adamant. She had even admitted to trying to find macarons in Boston because, she said, they were the thing that reminded her most of Maura. So far, she claimed that she hadn't managed to find a decent one, and Maura had had to promise to make some when Jane came back to Paris.

'I think she probably will...but never mind. At least I know she can manage the normal day-to-day things. And there's a birthday order to do soon that she can help with. An Opera for fifty people'.

Jane looked amazed. 'You say that like it's nothing. I got freaked out when I had to help Ma cook for Dad's fiftieth birthday, and that was only twenty seven of us'.

'Well, a cake for fifty isn't that big a deal. It just needs to be larger. But it's basically the same as making an individual one, apart from the oven time and quantities'.

'If you say so'.

'Speaking of Angela, are you going over there today?'

Jane nodded. 'Later'. Her brow wrinkled. 'She said she had something on today that meant she couldn't do lunch as usual, but she never said what'. She shrugged. 'Anyway. Just means I get ragu bolognese and lemon pie later rather than now. I'll get her to show me how to make it so I can do it for you when I come over, it's the best'.

'The bolognese or the pie?'

'Both'.

Maura smiled. 'I'd like that'.

'And Frankie and Tommy want to meet you. Really meet you, I mean. I've had to ban them from coming over with me'.

Maura had spoken to Jane's brothers once, when they had been at Jane's apartment watching a football game and Jane had Skyped Maura at half time. She had ended up staying online and watching the second half of the game, and, even though she couldn't see the score and had no idea what was going on - she had never followed football, even when she had lived in the States - she had felt like she was included. She had felt like part of a real, warm, loving family for the first time in her life, and she found herself really meaning it when she said that she couldn't wait to meet them too. And when she added, very innocently, that both Frankie and Tommy would be very welcome, the look of horror on Jane's face made her laugh out loud.

But all the talk about bolognese and lemon pie had reminded Maura of what was hiding in her purse, and, not wanting to forget about it, she reached down and pulled out the paper bag.

'I almost forgot'. She waved it triumphantly. 'I got these, as well. Well, there were three'. She grimaced slightly. 'But I did walk home, so it's not as bad as it looks'.

Jane just looked confused. 'What are you talking about?'

'Cookies. Real American-style ones'.

'Cookies?'

Maura nodded happily as she pulled the remaining cookie from the bag. 'They're the one thing I missed from the States. I only know one place in Paris that does them properly. The French don't seem to get them, somehow'.

'Yeah, that's because they have too many other things instead. No one goes to Paris for a cookie. Even me'.

Maura shrugged. 'I had a craving for them. I got milk chocolate and hazelnut, white chocolate and cherry, and this one'. She ignored the horrified look coming over Jane's face, and held up the cookie reverently. 'Dark chocolate, cinnamon and orange oil. They call it the chocoholic spice cookie'.

'No, Maura! No, no, no'.

Maura looked up in surprise to see Jane shaking her head.

'You're right, the French really don't get cookies. You can't have them with fancy flavours like that. Cookies should be chocolate chunk. Maybe with a few nuts or something in, or oat and raisin for the health freaks. But not oil and cherries and spicy stuff'.

'They do flavours like that everywhere, though - even in Boston'. Maura distinctly remembered a bakery near BCU where she had fallen in love with the lemon, dark chocolate and ginger flavour...and the oaty apple and cinnamon hadn't been bad, either.

'It's still wrong'. Jane looked firm about the issue. 'And those bits of chocolate look too small. You need real chunks in a cookie'.

Maura couldn't help laughing in amazement.

'Since when are you a cookie connoisseur?'

'My ma always made 'em. And you couldn't mess with any of her cookies like that'.

After another twenty minutes of playful argument while Maura ate the offending cookie - and thoroughly enjoyed every crumb, even though she wasn't particularly hungry - she finally gave up. Still laughing, shaking her head, she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, letting Jane's voice wash over her. Even though she didn't agree with Jane's cookie philosophy, it was very relaxing, and she found herself drifting, forgetting that Jane wasn't actually there.

'What are you doing?'

Maura didn't even open her eyes, but smiled as she breathed in deeply. If she didn't look, she could almost smell Jane. The fresh scent of her shampoo, the lemony shower gel that she used...

'Meditating'. Another deep breath. She was beginning to feel sleepy, but she didn't want Jane to go. 'It's too stressful arguing with you'.

She heard an indignant 'hmmph', and then silence...but she knew that Jane was smiling. Even from thousands of miles away, she could sense it, and it seemed to envelop her in something warm, something soft. Something comforting.

A bit like a proper cookie.

She didn't even know that she had fallen asleep until she woke up, three hours later, to find her apartment dark and the laptop still open beside her. Blinking, and stretching, she saw that Jane had signed off - although Maura couldn't really blame her - but that her email alert was flashing silently. Rubbing her eyes, she opened it, and smiled as she saw that there were three from Jane.

From:  _Jane Rizzoli_

To:  _Maura Isles_

Subject:  _Time for me to go..._

_...and eat bolognese and lemon pie - and get you Ma's cookie recipe. Talk tomorrow?x_

From:  _Jane Rizzoli_

To:  _Maura Isles_

Subject:  _PS_

_You look beautiful when you're asleep._

From:  _Jane Rizzoli_

To:  _Maura Isles_

Subject:  _PPS_

_I love you._

_Now I really am going._

Maura felt a rush of warmth flood over her, and she made no effort to stop the wide smile spreading over her face. Flopping back down, she pulled a pillow close to her, hugging it tightly as if it was Jane, and spent the next half hour reading, and re-reading, and reading again.

_I love you._

She had known that she was in love with Jane for a while. And she had kind of known that Jane felt the same about her. But neither of them had ever had the courage to say it - worried, perhaps, that saying it out loud would jinx it.

If she had known that those three little words would make her feel so purely, completely happy, Maura would have said them a long time ago.

It was, she thought, the perfect end to a perfect day.


	12. Bitter Almonds

_A/N - After a couple of really helpful reviews, both on here and on FF, the baseball game mentioned in the last chapter has been changed to a football game. Just so you don't get confused when it's mentioned again here :)._

_And thank you for all the lovely comments for the last chapter :). I did warn you that things would start happening in this one...in my defence, I've found that real life doesn't always give you any warning either. So now that I've got you nicely intrigued (I hope ;)) - enjoy!_

* * *

_Four weeks later..._

Maura couldn't breathe.

She felt sick. Gripping the edge of the steel kitchen table with her free hand, she tried to inhale, deeply, slowly, but the air that she desperately needed just caught in her throat along with the hysterical sobs that she could feel rising up through her chest. The kitchen seemed to be going black and fuzzy around the edges, and she sank to the floor, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the leg of the table. The hard coldness of the tiles made her shiver, but she could feel the sweat beading on her forehead and knew that she was close to having a panic attack. And so she forced herself to breathe, and count, and try to be calm.

In.

Out.

In for five, out for five.

Her cell phone was still clutched in her hand, and although it had slipped from her ear to her cheek, she could still hear the voice on the other end. Words drifted in and out of her brain, mingling with the ringing in her ears, and she tried to concentrate on them, tried to listen to what Angela was saying, but nothing seemed to make any sense.

' _A what do they call it?...through and through...shoulder...going to be fine...stable...Frost...flesh wound...'_

The only thing that she understood, the one word that kept reverberating round and round in her head, was 'shot'.

Jane had been shot.

Jane should have been in Paris. With Maura. She should have flown in two days ago, but she had called on Skype the morning before and said that she had had to suspend her leave. A shooting had taken place just outside the Governor's residence, killing a security guard and injuring three more. Whether or not the Governor was the intended target, everything else had been put on hold until the shooter was caught.

Including Jane's trip to Paris.

They had known that, theoretically, something like that could happen. It was why Jane had paid a bit extra to get flexible tickets that she could get a refund on if need be. But they had both been bitterly disappointed. Jane had used some choice words to describe her job - and the Governor, who Maura suspected she hadn't voted for and didn't like very much anyway - that had made Maura's eyes widen and prompted her to cover Coco's "ears". But there was nothing either of them could do, apart from hope that the case was solved quickly, and then hope that Jane could get her leave reinstated.

' _Someone shot him...arrested...Frankie...fine...Tommy here...speak to you...'_

None of it connected. It was like random words being fired at her and she couldn't put them together. She didn't understand what was happening, and she wanted to ask Angela to stop, to start from the beginning, to tell her again but more slowly this time, and maybe then she would find out that she was mistaken. Maybe she had heard wrong. Maybe, just maybe, she hadn't heard the words 'shot' and 'Jane' next to each other.

But she knew that she had. And she couldn't force the words out, couldn't seem to speak to ask Jane's mother to take her through it again. She had the most important bit, anyway. Or thought she did. And it was that bit that was making her dizzy, and sick, and panicked.

The woman she loved had a bullet in her. And Maura wasn't there.

Deep down, she had known that something like this could happen too. Jane was a homicide cop, working in a big city. Violence happened. Shooting, stabbing, hit-and-run...however many ways there were to kill another person, Jane saw them all, often at close quarters. And Maura had done science. She knew the law of averages. One day, it would be Jane rather than another cop who got beaten up while tackling a violent suspect, who got made while undercover, who got targeted by the killer who wanted the attention of the police.

One day, it would be Jane who caught the stray bullet.

' _Honey...can't work...sky...damn it...see you...'_

'Maura?'

Another voice, deeper this time, and Maura blinked.

'Tommy?' It came out as a croaky whisper, but even speaking at all was an improvement.

She liked Tommy. She liked Frankie as well, but she had got on particularly well with Tommy the night that she had watched the football game. After Jane had set the laptop up so that Maura could see the television screen, it had been Tommy that had periodically peered round to check that Maura could still see, that she was following the score, and that she knew what the hell was going on. Which she hadn't - she had only known if it was good or bad by the alternate cheers and groans that she could hear coming from the Rizzoli siblings - but she had appreciated the gesture anyway. He had even, jokingly, offered her the bowl of popcorn.

'You okay?'

'I...' Maura pulled herself up so that she was sitting bolt upright against the table leg, and opened her eyes gingerly. Her vision was no longer blurred, and the kitchen sink was no longer dancing in front of her. She took a deep breath, and managed to hold it. 'I don't know. What...?'

She could hear Tommy talking to someone else, and then sounds of movement. And then she noticed, for the first time, all the background noise. The faint buzz of people walking and talking. The rattle of change, the hiss of a coffee machine. And, in the distance, the wailing sound of sirens.

A hospital cafeteria.

'I guess you didn't get much of that, sorry. Ma was desperate to call you, but she's in a bit of a state herself'.

Suddenly the noise dimmed, and Maura guessed that Tommy had moved somewhere a bit quieter. She couldn't think where. A corridor, maybe. It didn't matter. She tried to listen this time, to concentrate on what he was telling her.

'They went to arrest a guy last night. Jane and Frost. They had back-up, so they must have known he was armed, but something went wrong somewhere and Jane got hit'.

Maura took another deep breath, willing herself to hold it together this time.

'But she's fine. You got that, Maura?' He sounded more worried about her than Jane. 'She's fine. It went straight through the underside of her shoulder, and it missed the artery, so she was lucky. Real lucky. And it was a clean wound. She'll need physio, and some time off, but she's going to be fine'.

Somehow, Maura couldn't quite put everything together. Jane had been hit. In the shoulder. And yet she was okay. It would take her time to recover fully, but she was going to be okay.

'Was it the Governor thing?'

'Yeah'. Tommy sounded relieved that she was, at last, able to string some kind of sentence together. 'They got him, though. Frost got a ricochet as well, but just a flesh wound. He's out of here already'.

Maura took another deep breath. She felt stronger now. The sweat that had covered her forehead just a few moments ago had dried, and she suddenly felt chilled. Plucking at the thin material of her chef's shirt, she realised that that, too, was soaked.

'Is Angela okay?' It dawned on her that she hadn't asked Angela how she was bearing up - in fact, she had barely said a word. She hadn't really been able to.

'Yeah, she's okay. I just heard what a mess she was making of telling you what had happened - she doesn't pass on news well. It was the same when Grandpa Rizzoli fell and broke his hip. By the time she'd finished, half the family thought he was dead and the other half thought he'd already had the hip replaced'.

Maura tried to laugh, but it came out as a part-giggle, part-sob and part-hiccup.

'She was wanting to try and talk to you on Skype, I think, but she doesn't really know how to work it'.

'Oh, it doesn't matter'. Really, Maura was amazed that Angela had even thought to call her so soon at all, and it would be a while before it occurred to her that the Rizzolis now thought of her as a member of the family, even though she was half a world away.

'I should go and get back, but...'

'Of course'.

'I'll keep in touch'.

'Tell Angela I'm sorry'. Maura felt terrible that she had hardly spoken to Jane's mother. 'And...Tommy?'

'Yeah?'

'Thank you'.

Maura had no idea how long she sat on the kitchen floor after Tommy had hung up. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Half an hour. She could hear customers in the shop, and Amélie's cheerful voice as she served and chatted and recommended, but none of it seemed real anymore. The sounds were slightly muffled, as if they were coming from behind a pane of glass, and she had no way to get through it even if she had wanted to. She couldn't face the shop. She couldn't face the almond tarts that she had been making when the phone had rung.

She just wanted to be with Jane.

The longer she sat, the worse she felt. Helplessness, guilt, anger, horror, relief, and a raw, deep longing washed over her in a kind of tidal wave that left her rooted to the floor. Helplessness and guilt, because she hadn't been there when Jane had needed her and she still wasn't there. Anger at the bastard who had fired his gun at Jane in the first place. Horror at the sudden, harsh reminder that Jane's job could, one day, get her killed.

Relief that, this time, Jane was going to be okay.

But that relief wasn't enough. She needed to be with Jane, needed to touch her and see, with her own eyes, that what Tommy and Angela had said was true. It was as if someone had put blinkers on her, and, suddenly, that was the only thing that mattered.

Jane was the only thing that mattered.

Pulling herself to her feet, she looked around the kitchen as if seeing it for the first time. Everything looked just as it had done before the phone had rung, and yet everything was so completely different. The tray of almond tarts that had not long been out of the oven no longer looked sweet and delicious, and inhaling the sugary, nutty smell made Maura felt slightly sick once more. She knew that she wouldn't be able to make - or eat - those again for a very long time.

She waited until there was a lull in the flow of customers before poking her head through into the shop and asking Amélie if she could manage the afternoon by herself. One look at Maura's tear-streaked, pale face was enough to convince the assistant not to ask questions, and she nodded, saying that she could work all day and that it was no problem. Maura thanked her, closed the door, and made her way up the stairs to her apartment. She still felt shaky and cold, but her mind was beginning to clear. She could think.

Stripping off her shirt, she threw it in the laundry basket before heading through to the bathroom and turning the bath taps on full. It was the only way that she could think of to warm up, to get rid of the chill that seemed to have settled right in her spine and to stop the slight tremble that she could see still in her fingers. While she was waiting for the tub to fill, she went back out to the kitchen and fetched some leaves for Coco, before switching on her laptop and clicking on a website that had already been saved to her favourites.

Air France.

She didn't even really need to look again to know the timetable, and the prices, but she still stared at the screen in a kind of trance. And, even though she told herself that it was silly, that she was in shock and that she was over-reacting, she still felt like she was on the verge of making a decision that would stay with her for a long time. It was a decision that had been lurking at the back of her mind for a while, and that she hadn't really wanted to face. Selfishly, she thought she probably would have tried to avoid making it for as long as possible. But now it had been forced on her. And, no matter how many times she told herself that flying to Boston to be with Jane for a few days when she was injured was very different to flying to Boston for good, it somehow felt as momentous as if that was what she was going to do. What had happened had suddenly altered the way she saw her relationship with Jane, and it had altered the way she saw the distance between them. She knew that, even when Jane was fully recovered and back to normal, she wouldn't be able to cope with being so far away, knowing that it could all happen again.

It felt like she had a real choice to make.

Jane. Or the pâtisserie.

As if sensing that something was wrong, Coco ambled, very slowly, over to the sofa where Maura sat, and the thought that her pet understood made a fresh wave of tears spring from Maura's eyes. She knew it was silly, to think that a tortoise might want to comfort her. More likely, she thought as she reached down and tickled Coco's shell, she actually just wanted more food. But even the solid presence was comforting, and made her feel a bit better.

She knew, deep down, what she was going to do, and she also knew that it was the right thing to do.

And, after an hour soaking and warming up in the bath, it seemed like the only thing to do. Wrapped in just a towel, and with her hair tied up in a scruffy bun, she opened the website again and reached for her cell phone.

She had some arrangements to make.


	13. A Taste of Paris in Boston

_Last chapter! And it comes with a massive, sugary fluff warning...:)_

_Thank you all so much for reading, it really means a lot. Hope you enjoy this last one._

* * *

'Ma'. Jane groaned as she stretched out on her sofa. 'Stop. Please. You're wearing me out just watching you'.

'So turn on the TV. You can watch a chat show instead'.

'Ugh, Ma!'

'Janie, you have a hole in your shoulder'.

Jane looked down at her right shoulder, now padded with bandages and supported with a sling. Her mother was right. Somewhere, underneath all the gauze and the antiseptic film, was a neat bullet-sized hole.

But that didn't explain why her mother was getting the hoover out.

'Ma, I've been home, what...half an hour? You've already done my washing up and tidied away my laundry. Which didn't need doing. And now you're going to hoover?'

But Angela was not to be put off.

'This place is a tip, Janie, and you won't recover properly with all this clutter everywhere'.

Jane's eyebrows shot up, and she looked at her mother in frank amazement.

'I like my clutter exactly the way it is. I won't be able to find stuff if you tidy it away'.

'You never know who might call in, especially with you being sick and all, and it would be real embarrassing if visitors were to find this place looking like...well. This'.

'There's nothing wrong with it. And anyway, I'm not sick. Just...walking wounded'.

'Hmm'. Angela rolled her eyes as she switched on the hoover,and Jane just caught her next words before they were drowned out by the whine of the machine. 'Think it would be easier on everyone if you weren't walking'.

Slumping back into the cushions, Jane sighed deeply and closed her eyes. She was a terrible patient, and would be the first to say so. But she was also sore - although she would never have admitted that to anyone, least of all her mother - and she ached all over, a throbbing, dull ache that seemed to radiate out from her shoulder and reach all the way down to her toes. She knew Angela meant well, but all she really wanted was a hot bath and her own bed.

And Maura.

When Jane had come round in hospital, the first thing that she had thought of had been Maura. Even before Frost, and even before Frankie, both of whom had been with her that night. And, once she had ascertained that both Frost and Frankie were fine, it was Maura that occupied her mind almost all the time. She had quickly found out that Angela and Tommy had both spoken to her girlfriend to let her know what had happened, and to start with she had been a bit pissed off. She hadn't wanted to worry Maura when there was nothing that the other woman could do, and she had known how much Maura would worry. And the stubborn, proud part of her hadn't wanted Maura to see her weak. She hadn't wanted Maura to think of her as wounded and fragile.

That wasn't who she was.

But when she had finally managed to speak to Maura, on her second day in hospital, she had felt so overwhelmed that she could barely speak. She hated to appear vulnerable, but suddenly that was exactly how she felt, and she didn't have the energy to hide it. All she had wanted was for Maura to be there with her and hold her while she cried - and not tell anyone afterwards. Hearing Maura's voice had helped soothe her as it always did, but, this time, the voice alone hadn't been enough.

She had missed Maura desperately ever since she had left Paris almost four months ago...but never more so than that moment. And, after that phone conversation, every time she thought about Maura she had wanted to cry again.

She had blamed her pain meds.

She had also initially blamed her medication when, after having had her dressing changed on her fourth and last afternoon in hospital - she had been told that she would be discharged the following morning, and she had never been so relieved - the nurse had left her room and, on her way out, had held the door open for someone else to enter...a visitor that had turned out to be Maura. Jane had been totally convinced that it was a morphine-induced hallucination, and it was only the very real feel of Maura's lips on hers that had eventually persuaded her otherwise.

Normally, Jane hated surprises. But this one, she thought, had been pretty much perfect.

After Jane had finally accepted that she wasn't just dreaming, Maura had told her, in between kisses, that she had decided to book herself a flight after she had spoken to Angela and Tommy on the morning after Jane had been shot. She couldn't, she said, have stayed in Paris, worrying and fretting and not being able to be with Jane when she most needed her. And, just then, Jane had been too high on pure happiness and pain-killing drugs to ask many questions.

'Janie?'

Jane opened her eyes. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn't even noticed that the hoover had stopped, and she looked over at her mother. Angela was now standing in the tidied kitchen area, balancing a casserole dish in each hand. And judging by the questioning look on her face, she wanted Jane to make some sort of decision.

Jane closed her eyes again.

'Left hand'.

'Chicken and mushroom bake?'

'Right hand, then'.

'Lasagne'.

'Cannoli after?'

'What else?'

Jane laughed, but quickly stopped as she knocked against the back of the sofa and sent a spasm shooting down her right arm. 'Thanks, Ma'.

There was blessed quiet for a few moments while Angela busied herself with the oven, and Jane found herself thinking about Maura again, smiling as she reminded herself, for the hundredth time since she had woken up that morning with Maura lying beside her on the hospital bed, that her girlfriend was actually here. But, now that she was a bit more with it, she also realised that they would need to talk. She was beginning to feel a creeping guilt that Maura had evidently dropped everything and flown halfway around the world just to be with her, and she needed to know, for her own peace of mind, what arrangements Maura had made for the pâtisserie. What she had done with Coco. And how long she was planning on staying.

But all of that could wait until after lasagne. Hospital food, Jane had discovered, left a lot to be desired and, even though she was tired, she was also suddenly starving.

Checking her watch, she wondered how much longer her girlfriend would be. Maura had ruefully explained that only flight she had been able to get on at late notice was one that connected in London, and that her suitcase, unfortunately, had remained in London when she had flown on to Boston. But she had received a call from Air France that morning to confirm that it had now arrived, and so, with Tommy busy at work, Frankie had offered to drive her to to the airport to collect it. Jane had wanted to go with them, unwilling to let Maura out of her sight for even a couple of hours, and it had only been Maura's firm promise to be as quick as possible, combined with a sudden lightheaded feeling of queasiness as she had climbed out of the car at her apartment, that had persuaded her to stay.

Just as she was about to ask Angela whether she would have time for that bath before the dinner was ready, the front door opened and Frankie staggered in, lugging the biggest suitcase that Jane had ever seen. She had thought that maybe - hopefully - the fact that Maura had brought a suitcase meant that she would be staying longer than a few days. But, judging by the size of it, Maura was planning on moving in.

'Glad she's staying with you and not me'. Frankie grinned as he indicated the suitcase, now sat in the middle of Jane's living area, and Maura shrugged unconcernedly as she closed the front door and kicked off her heels.

'I wasn't exactly thinking straight when I packed'.

'Hmm'. Jane smiled wickedly as she reached out her good hand for Maura. 'You got more heels like that in there?'

'Three pairs. Plus two pairs of sneakers and some winter boots - I didn't know how cold it would be over here'.

Jane chuckled, and was about to join Frankie in teasing Maura some more when Angela called from the kitchen.

'Dinner's up!'

No one bothered sitting at the table to eat. Jane, now quite happy to play on invalid status, claimed pride of place on the sofa along with control of the remote and, she decided, the mix of her Ma's lasagne, baseball, and Maura next to her was the closest to heaven that she would ever get. She could have done with being able to use both hands, but, since the bullet had got Maura here, she thought that she had better not complain too much. She grinned as she thought of the look on the guy's face if he ever realised that, by shooting her, he had actually done her a favour.

After they had eaten, and after Angela and Maura between them had cleared everything away, Jane stretched out on the sofa again, and closed her eyes as Frankie and her mother prepared to leave. She heard goodbyes being said, heard hugs being exchanged, and waved her hand in the vague direction of her front door as a goodbye to her brother. She didn't get off quite so easily with Angela, however, who came over to the sofa to ruffle her hair as she had done when Jane was small. Then, finally, she heard the front door close, heard her mother's voice receding down the stairs, and felt the movement at the other end of the sofa as Maura sat back down.

It had been nice having her mother and brother there. But now, she was more than ready for some time alone with Maura. She didn't count the previous night in the hospital when Maura had refused to leave her bedside. And although it could have felt slightly strange - it was, after all, the first time that she and Maura had been physically together for four months - she just felt comfortable. Natural.

It felt completely right.

'You must be tired'.

Jane opened one eye, and looked over to where Maura was sitting. She was tired. Very tired. But there were some things that couldn't wait.

'Yeah'. She nodded, and reached out her hand. 'But not so tired that you need to sit all the way up there'.

Maura chuckled as she took Jane's hand, and moved to kneel on the floor by Jane's end of the sofa. Jane closed her eye again, and almost purred as she felt Maura's fingers tracing the lines of her face - over her brows, down her nose, round her cheekbones, over her lips. There had been so many times when she had ached to feel that touch. And now she could, whenever she wanted.

'Hmmm'. Jane kissed Maura's fingers as they passed over her lips again, and then reached out with her good arm to pull Maura's head down for the deep, slow kiss that she had been dreaming about for weeks. Maura's lips on hers were so soft, familiar and exciting at the same time, and Jane felt her skin begin to tingle, felt her body begin to throb lightly - and this time, the ache wasn't coming from her shoulder.

Despite her tiredness, and despite her injury, this was the first thing that couldn't wait.

'Jane...' Maura pulled back, her breathing coming hard and her darkening eyes dancing. 'You're injured. You have a hole in your shoulder'.

'Umm-hmm'. Jane nodded lazily as she tucked a stray strand of Maura's honey-blonde hair back behind her ear. 'Ma kindly reminded me of that, too. But this arm's fine'.

She waved her left hand.

'And there's nothing wrong with my mouth, either'.

Jane smiled as she heard Maura's breath catch in her throat and, with her own heart beginning to pound, leaned closer again.

'Which means I can still do this...' She kissed Maura again, capturing those sweet-tasting lips with her own. 'And this...' Her left hand brushed over Maura's breast, and she gasped into the kiss as she felt Maura's nipple already hard underneath her top. 'And this...'

This time, the gasp came from Maura as Jane's hand moved down her stomach and round her hip, but it was prevented from going any further by the way that Maura was kneeling. And, Jane decided, there was only one way to fix that. Gently breaking the kiss and sitting up, she swung her legs over the sofa and took Maura's hand, tugging her to her feet.

The sofa probably wouldn't have been very comfortable anyway.

Jane had wanted this for so long. She had thought about it, dreamed about it, fantasised about it, but none of her imaginings had even come close to the reality of having Maura there, with her. And she took it slowly. With her shoulder, she didn't really have a choice, but she found herself wanting to savour every second. She wanted to kiss every inch of Maura's skin, feel every curve with her fingers as Maura sat on the bed in front of her while she knelt on the floor. She lingered over hard, rosy nipples that begged to be teased. She took her time working down Maura's stomach, marvelling at the softness of Maura's skin and ignoring Maura's gasped, half-hearted protests that they should maybe wait until Jane's shoulder was at least a bit better. She was languid in moving her lips down Maura's thighs, waiting until Maura had stopped protesting and was instead begging Jane not to tease her any more, before finally pushing Maura back and slipping her fingers into the wet, throbbing heat in between Maura's legs. Even then, she tried to control herself. She wanted to explore. She wanted to bring Maura to the brink, and then bring her back again to hear her moan and whimper in anticipation. She wanted to know the feel of Maura against her face, wanted to feel Maura tighten around her fingers as she worked the hard bundle of nerves with her tongue. She wanted to memorise everything, because she had no idea how long she would have this for...but she had never forgotten the taste of Maura.

Honey and lavender.

Then, Maura was so gentle. Jane could tell that she was worried about hurting her, but with Maura's fingers working their magic on other parts of her body, her shoulder was the last thing she was thinking about. Even in Paris, she didn't think that she had felt the kind of sensations that flooded through her now - sensations that were better than any pain medication. Maura's hands on her breasts, on her stomach, and round her hips. Maura's fingers slipping in between her legs, teasing her where she needed it most before moving down to the tops of her thighs, and then back up, a darting tongue flicking her nipple as two fingers slipped inside her. And as her bedroom disappeared in a kind of sensual haze, Jane had the absurd thought that they really should put this on prescription.

Afterwards, she found herself wondering just how she had managed nearly four months without this. Without Maura.

She felt the mattress shift as Maura propped herself up on her elbow, and shifted on her back so that she could see her...and felt her breath catching her throat again. She loved everything about Maura. But the other woman's smile was probably the thing that she loved most of all.

Had she ever told her that?

Probably not.

'I love your smile'. She reached up to trace it with her good hand, and felt a little tingle run down her arm as Maura caught her fingers and kissed them, tenderly, one by one.

'I love you'.

They had said it before. She had heard Maura tell her before. But somehow, it had never sounded like that. And she could no longer ignore the niggling feelings of guilt and shame that Maura was here for her, when really there was no need. Her injury wasn't that serious...and she couldn't help feeling like she had somehow taken advantage. Maura, clearly, would do anything for her. And suddenly she felt terrible that she hadn't made more effort to reassure Maura herself, instead of letting everything go down the phone. She should have been stronger - and she shouldn't have allowed Maura to upend everything, just for her.

'Maura, I'm sorry'. She didn't know what else to say, but took a deep breath regardless. 'I...'

She was stopped by Maura's finger over her lips.

'You have nothing to be sorry for'.

'I do', Jane mumbled against Maura's hand. 'You came all the way here for me, and there was no need to. I should have told you I was fine instead of bawling down the phone like a baby, and now you've left the pâtisserie and Coco and spent thousands of dollars on a plane ticket, and...'

'And all that was my choice'. Maura sounded firm, almost cross, and when Jane blinked up at her she saw that Maura did, indeed, look serious. 'I never told you I was coming, and besides, everything's taken care of'.

Jane reached up and lifted Maura's finger from her mouth.

'The pâtisserie?'

'Amélie and Hélène between them. I told them to shorten the opening hours so that it's not too much for them - I've done that once before. And Pascal - you remember Pascal? From the bakery two doors down? He offered to help them out if they need anything. And I'll ring in every day, just to check, but I'm sure they'll be fine'.

It sounded so obvious. Yet Jane knew what it must have taken for Maura to leave the patisserie. And...

'And Coco?'

Maura's firm expression changed to a half-smile, half-grimace. 'Antoine'.

Jane looked at her, amazed. 'What, cheese guy?'

Maura nodded, unable to help giggling. 'He stopped by when I was packing, with an invitation to an evening tasting session that they were having at the fromagerie. And when I told him that I was going to be away for a couple of weeks, he offered to look after Coco'. She leaned back on the pillows. 'I think they'll get on very well, actually. You saw him - head to toe Lauren and Givenchy. He's almost as fashion conscious as she is'.

Jane couldn't help laughing. Not just at the thought of Antoine with the tortoise, but at the way Maura spoke about Coco as if she was actually human. It was funny, but kind of endearing at the same time.

And Maura had told Antoine that she would be away for a couple of weeks. Was that how long they had?

'Uh...' She wasn't sure that she wanted to know when Maura would be leaving. 'How long are you staying?'

'I booked a flight back two weeks from today'. Maura paused. 'But it's a flexible ticket'.

Jane tried to let it sink in. Two whole weeks. And a flexible ticket...which meant that Maura had wanted the chance to stay longer.

'Maura, I...' She paused, not quite sure how to say what she wanted to say. She didn't know how to put into words how grateful she was, how amazed she was that Maura would do this for her, and how she still, sometimes, couldn't quite believe that someone like Maura could love someone like her.

So she settled for something simple.

'I love you'.

The smile that Maura gave her in return could have lit up half the city, and Jane just smiled back, unable to do anything except bask in the glow.

'Oh!' Maura suddenly sat upright, making Jane jump. 'I almost forgot!'

Jane wrinkled her brow as Maura sprang off the bed and went to the suitcase that had been dragged into the bedroom by Frankie. Blinking, she watched as Maura unzipped the main compartment to reveal enough clothes to populate Jane's meagre closet twice over.

'You know, I don't think I even own that many clothes...' she began, but was silenced when Maura triumphantly held up a tupperware box.

Tupperware?

It was only when Maura climbed back onto the bed and handed it over that Jane realised a patisserie box was nestled inside, and that Maura must have put it in the Tupperware to protect it and stop it getting squashed. Eagerly, she lifted it out, and paused for a moment to trace the flowing black script on the cream cardboard.

La Belle Epoque.

The same script that was on the business card that Maura had given her, all those months ago - and that she still carried in her wallet.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Jane opened the box and almost laughed out loud in delight.

'Violet macarons?'

Maura shrugged, looking shyly pleased at Jane's reaction.

'I had made them for you coming to Paris, but since you couldn't make it...I thought I'd bring a bit of Paris to you'.

But Jane's mouth was already full of chewy meringue and violet ganache, despite the earlier lasagne and cannoli, and she had to swallow before she could reply.

'These are so great. And I wanna go back to Paris. When I get my leave reinstated we'll have to sort out my tickets'.

'Hmm'.

Jane paused mid-chew, and looked over at Maura. That really hadn't sounded very enthusiastic...

'What, you don't want me to come to Paris?'

Maura smiled. 'Of course I do. But...well, I was thinking that you might not have to'.

Jane swallowed. Hard.

'What?'

'You said yourself that you couldn't find a decent macaron in Boston'. Maura shrugged, suddenly looking very interested in a stray thread on the pillowcase. 'Maybe it would be a good time to change that'.

It took a moment for Maura's meaning to register in Jane's shocked mind. When it did, she had never felt anything like it. Exhilaration, elation and a kind of amazed euphoria mixed together with total disbelief. She wasn't going to kid herself and pretend that she hadn't thought about it before. But she would never in a million years have actually asked Maura to do it. Now, though, it seemed that Maura was suggesting it.

Leaving Paris and moving to Boston.

But...

'Paris'. Jane managed to squeak. 'The pâtisserie. It's your life, Maura'.

Something flashed across Maura's face - an acknowledgement, perhaps, that on one level Jane was right - before she finally stopped fiddling with the pillowcase and looked up at Jane.

'Not any more'.

Not any more.

'And anyway', Maura continued, a wry smile spreading across her face. 'It's just cake'.

'Just cake?' Jane repeated, looking at the half-eaten macaron in her hand.

'But we can maybe think about it'. Maura suddenly looked shy, a bit embarrassed. 'And of course I want you to come back to Paris. I had a whole ten days planned out'.

Jane nodded slowly, a wide smile spreading across her face. Whether or not it actually came off, the idea that Maura actually wanted to move, just to be with her, was so incredible. It was almost overwhelming.

'So'. Jane looked up at Maura, biting her bottom lip to stop her grin spreading too far and making her look like a total idiot. 'What's this Boston pâtisserie going to be called?'

Maura made no such effort to control her own delighted smile.

'I'm not sure'. Her tone of voice, however, indicated that she was fairly sure...but she pretended to think as she reached over to pluck a macaron out of the box.

'How about... _Jane's_?'

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - Yes, I have renamed (and resexed) Bass. I'm sorry - but the reasons why will become clear later!
> 
> When I showed this to a couple of my nearest and dearest, they both called me out on spelling 'macaroon' wrongly. So I thought I should probably explain that a macaron and a macaroon are actually different things! A French macaron is meringue-based (and incredibly gorgeous and moreish - more from Maura on this later :)). I promise I didn't just make a spelling mistake!


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